


Street Magic

by annaloverofarendale



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Alternate Universe, Growing Up Together, M/M, Magical Realism, Rating will probably get higher as I go on, Superpower AU a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annaloverofarendale/pseuds/annaloverofarendale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blunder AU- In a magic based world where everyone has a specialty, but not all are equally special, Gob and Tony grow up as best friends, turned rivals, turned... lovers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Met and Named

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenofcrossroads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofcrossroads/gifts), [quetzalcoatlisborn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=quetzalcoatlisborn).



> I always create playlists to help me write, especially with more complicated stories. This is the music of Street Magic: https://8tracks.com/starshineandmages/street-magic (contains hints for future chapters! Wow!). Thank you so much for reading and commenting, this is the best fandom.

'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello."  
And your eyes look like coming home  
All I know is a simple name  
Everything has changed  
~Taylor Swift (Everything Has Changed)

 

George Sr had said, gruffly, that there was something for everyone. Lucille barely resisted the urge to point out that not all ‘somethings’ were equal. It wouldn’t have fixed the problem at any rate, which was that their firstborn, their oldest son, had a useless bonus. 

True, it wasn’t as bad as some of the horror stories you heard out there. Why, Caroline McKenneth’s bonus was that she achieved orgasm every time she sneezed. Which just made her unsuitable for polite company, sexual liberation be damned. And there were the urban legends, of wild youths whose bonus was that they always knew the right place for a knife or fist to land so that your victim was killed on the spot. But even those bonuses had their uses, the mafia was always hiring. 

Really, their standards had been too high. The Bluths had been blessed with practical bonuses for as long as they could remember. George Sr. could manipulate a room of up to twenty people, which was perfect for shareholder’s meetings. Lucille could spot someone’s biggest insecurity, and she knew exactly how to hold it against them. Even Oscar could communicate with animals, even if it was only lizards. The lizards at least were abundant in Southern California, so Oscar had a fairly decent sized net of informants, although he used them poorly, mainly to find macca and weed. 

But still. Lucille couldn’t hide her disappointment, not that she tried too hard. George Oscar had been playing in the park, the public one at that. He had climbed to the top of the slide, more to startle the nanny than anything else. But he had misplaced his foot, and a sudden gust of wind caught him off balance. The nanny and local mothers had screamed, but George Oscar had, well. Not quite flown. That was the frustrating bit, because flying had class. It was classic. Instead, according to the eye witnesses, he had gently drifted instead, landing softly. 

The child was ecstatic, the foolish thing. He had played with his bonus the entire afternoon, finding his limits. He could jump higher than most, stay in the air for longer, and land more gently. And that was it. It wasn’t useful by any means. 

Lucille had to draw the line at George Oscar’s playing when he tried to sneak out Michael for a... was flight appropriate even? For a slow fall. Michael was her only chance now. She couldn’t risk George Oscar dropping his baby brother, which would have been inevitable. 

She took a long drag on her cigarette. Those fucking Sitwells were having yet another social worker over, some interview or another about Nelly. Although their obsession was understandable. Lucille had been talking with Lucille Austero just last week, and it appears that little Nelly had a charm bonus, always very in demand for society families. 

Huh.

Lucille blew a flawless smoke ring. She had some calls to make.

~

George Oscar hesitated before turning the doorknob. Mom had said that Mikey was asleep, but he slept so much, it should be okay to play with him for a little bit. Especially now that George Oscar knew he could fly. The girl with long blonde hair on the swings had told him that it wasn’t really flying, but that was her being mean, and anyways, what he could do was cool enough. 

He tip-toed over to Mikey’s crib. At the sound of the door creaking open, Mikey had woken up, and pulled himself up, hands clutching the bars of his crib. Mikey was too little to stand totally on his own, but according to Mom, he should be walking any day now. George Oscar smiled. Mikey was reaching out to him. Before today, he would have been stuck, the bars would have been too high. Now, George Oscar just... jumped. It felt ticklish. And it made Mikey laugh. 

It took a few tries, but George Oscar eventually gets Mikey over the bars. They would normally tumble to the floor, but this time, it’s a slow tumble, and no one gets hurt. George Oscar grins at the delight in Mikey’s face. 

George Oscar can’t read yet, even though some other kids in his class say they can. He’s not very good at sitting still, he has too many ideas and too many stories. But that’s fine. Because now he can fly, and he can make Mikey laugh when they leapfrog onto the dresser, then pounce off and balance on the windowsill. 

Dad comes in and yells a bit, which makes Mikey start crying, because that’s what babies do. It’s okay though, because George Oscar can still remember the look in his eyes when they were having fun.

Mikey looked up at him like George Oscar was a superhero.

~

When Nelly-Lindsay comes, everyone loves her more. Even Michael. George Oscar tries to explain to his teacher that it turns out Mikey has a twin that’s big, but she doesn’t listen all the way and has to run and help another student who is trying to conjure without supervision. 

George Oscar isn’t easily deterred. He turns to the boy next to him, who is meticulously sorting little tiles with the fourteen runes on them. He is sorting them by purpose, and then alphabetically, as far as George Oscar can tell, he’s not that good at the runes yet. The kid is sticking out his tongue, he’s concentrating so hard. He has messy hair, kind of curly and black with some purple paint stuck in it, like he did it on purpose. 

“I have a new sister.”

The other boy is unimpressed. “I have a brother, so what?”

George Oscar puffs out his chest. “I have a brother too, you know! His name is Mikey.”

The other boy is actually looking at him now. “That’s pretty cool.”

And because George Oscar ‘thrives off of attention’ or whatever the teacher told the nanny when she picked him up-

“You know what else is pretty cool? I can fly.”

“Really?”

George Oscar remembers the girl on the playground, his mother’s tight lipped smile when he demonstrated. “More or less.”

The other boy grins. “That’s awesome, dude.”

And George Oscar has no idea what to do next. Usually people don’t talk to him for this long. So if he climbs onto his desk, and demonstrates his flying by hopping onto the teacher’s desk in a single leap, well. And yeah, maybe he messed up the papers on her desk. But the boy with curly black hair actually tells the teacher that it wasn’t his fault, and at recess, when George Oscar is stuck inside as a punishment, the other boy stands by the window. All the other kids are playing, doodling illusion symbols for a hopscotch game. 

“I see what you mean about it not really being flying.” 

George Oscar feels like he’s about to cry.

“It’s more like super-jumping, you should call it that. What’s your name?” 

He sniffs, hard. “George Oscar Bluth.”

“That’s too long. Your initials are G. O. B., so I’m gonna call you Gob. Is that okay?”

And George Oscar isn’t used to people asking if things are okay. They usually just decide for him. And he realizes that George is his daddy, and Oscar is his uncle. But maybe Gob could just be him. So he nods, and he spends all of recess talking with the dark haired boy. They both love the jungle gym, and their brothers. They both have train sets at home, although Gob has the fancier one that moves on it’s own, with real steam coming out of the top. But the other boy seems to really like his trains, even if they aren’t as expensive, so Gob doesn’t press it, he just promises that the other boy can come over and play with his trains sometime soon. The other boy smiles at this. They have a lot in common, he says. Like, he uses his full name to introduce himself too. 

“I’m Tony Wonder, and I’m going to be famous.”  
“And we’re going to be friends.”

Tony rolls his eyes at Gob.  
“Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!   
> :)  
> So, this is what I've kind of always wanted to write, so I'm gonna be working on it for a while. I haven't seen any longer "childhood bffs" au's yet, which are my weakness, so this is maybe going to be a thing? We'll see. :) If the world doesn't quite make sense yet, I'm hopefully going to flesh it out a bit in coming chapters. 
> 
> Love you!  
> Emma


	2. Ten Years Later

“I watch the sun as it rises and it sets.  
I watch the moon trace it’s arc, with no regrets.  
My jacket round your shoulders, the falling leaves-  
The wet grass on our backs, the autumn breeze lifts through the trees”  
~Kingdom of Days, Bruce Springsteen

 

“Gob, don’t you fucking dare.” 

Tony sometimes wonders (did somebody say-) why he and Gob are friends. These questions tend to arise whenever Gob is about to do something that will land both Tony and Gob in massive, massive trouble. Which is constantly, apparently.

To be fair, the concept would be pretty cool, if it could work. But judging by the amount of creaking coming from Gob’s platform, that isn’t going to happen. 

Gob doesn’t seem to hear the creaking or his best friends’ protests. “Ladies and Gentlemen.”

Tony sighs. “Gob, it’s literally just me.” True enough, although the park is busy as ever, no one is in their little corner, and certainly no one else is listening to Gob’s preamble.

Gob coughs, annoyed. “I said, ladies and gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed. Gob the Magnificent is about to invent a new form of flight. From these hand carved oaken panels, I have fashioned a flying machine!”

“Leonardo Da Vinci already did that. Do you even pay attention in class? Ever?”

You can’t put out Gob’s fire though, and Tony’s (very valid) critiques fall on deaf ears. “A flying machine much better than Leonardo DiCaprio’s!”

“DA VINCI.”

“Bless you. As I was saying, this flying machine is revolutionary because it renders the user-” Gob tries to discreetly set off a smoke bomb, but only succeeds in releasing a foul odor in the park- “utterly invisible.”

Tony’s blood runs cold. Sure, they’ve been spellbound for years, but really? His voice goes low and scary, or at least as low and scary as it can currently go without cracking. “Gob. What did you do?”

Apparently Tony’s low and scary voice is even easier for him to ignore, because Gob keeps going, the bastard. “And now- the launch!”

Gob climbs up the rickety ladder, and before Tony can stop him, he launches himself into the air. For a moment, he is poised, frozen before the fall. He flickers a little, then disappears. Tony finds himself rooting for him, he always does. But then-

CRASH!

Gob is on the ground and the ‘flying machine’ is in pieces, and Tony couldn’t even see the crash so he doesn’t know how sudden it was, and Gob didn’t put any padding in the machine, and Tony feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest as he races towards where Gob is, praying that his best friend is okay. Tony finally gets to where Gob is groaning and trying to sit up. 

“Okay, okay, okay- um.” Tony knows first aid, of course he does, he’s friends with Gob. “Stay still. Don’t try and sit up until I tell you to, okay Gobie?” 

Gob groans out his agreement. 

“Good. Can you, um, feel everything?” 

“You mean like my penis?”

“No, Gob, like your feet. Although, hey- that’s okay too, right?”

He smirks. “Why, wanna check it out?” 

“God, no Gob, Jesus Christ I’m trying to make sure you aren’t paralyzed.” Tony sighs. He reaches into his backpack for the emergency QuikHealth he always carries because, again, he’s friends with Gob. “Drink this.”

Gob props himself up. “I’m fine, Tony. I just don’t understand why that didn’t work.” Gob’s eyes are gigantic as they look into Tony’s. The green and gold and blue and flecks of brown are hypnotizing. Tony has a sketchbook at home that even Gob doesn’t know about, and he’s tried to get those eyes right a dozen times, but the stupid company doesn’t make colored pencils in the right shades. Those big eyes blink and look down at the drink Tony’s pressed into his hands, and the eye contact is broken as Gob scrunches up his nose and downs the QuikHealth.

Tony is so distracted he almost forgot why he was going to kill Gob. Oh yeah. “Gob, it didn’t work because you STOLE MY SPELLSIGN AND DIDN’T LET ME HELP YOU.”

Gob winces. “Well, yeah, but Tony, I wanted it to be a surprise.” He threads his fingers through his hair, messing up the carefully gelled style. There’s a small cut on his forehead and Tony resists the urge to run down to the drugstore and buy a pack of bandaids. He’s mad at Gob, goddamn it.

“Yeah, an illegal surprise. Do you know how much trouble we would both get into? You essentially signed my name on something I had no part in! What if it had landed on a child, or, like, an old person, or even a cat, Gob. I could be responsible for the death of an innocent creature.” Tony is nearly hyperventilating. Gob, in a surprising demonstration of awareness, places a hand on his shoulder. Which, to be honest, doesn’t help much with the hyperventilating. But it is nice. Tony leans into the touch as much as he dares.

Tony knows that he’s probably gay. He hasn’t told Gob yet, and he’s not sure if he’s going to. 

Gob says his apology like a whisper. “I’m sorry, Tony.” And damn it. Tony helps Gob to his feet and they survey the damage together. The wings of the machine are split straight through, and it looks like Gob just used an apple crate for the body of the machine. But the idea is there, even if it’s not quite as original as Gob thought it was. Seriously, who doesn’t know about Leonardo DaVinci? 

“Think we can fix it, Tony?” 

“No.” Gob’s face falls. “But I have a better idea. What if we add like, super thin seatbelts? And then we can shrink them smaller.”

“That’s a great idea! Right?”

“Right!”

“Hey, hey, what if we, like, made them so small you can wear them on like, your feet?”

“Just like flying shoes?”

“Just like flying shoes!”

Tony grins. “That’s perfect.” The two teenagers smile at each other for a moment. This is what they do, this is who they are. “Hey, do you wanna stop by the magic shop on the way home?”

“Does my ass look amazing in these pants?” Gob spots the confusion on Tony’s face. “That should be a yes. Does my ass look bad in these pants?” Gob starts turning in circles trying to check out his own ass in what appeared to be custom made white leather pants. 

“Gob- Gob- Gob, stop! Your ass looks amazing. As always. Are you coming with me to the magic shop or not?” Although those pants... were not Tony’s style, at all. Ever since he discovered Twisted Kin near the end of eighth grade, Tony’s outfits could be described as punk meets goth at best. Mrs. Wonder almost had a heart attack when she walked in on Gob dying Tony’s hair bright pink, but two years later, she had resigned herself to the more edgy version of her oldest son.

The more gangly teen stopped spinning. “Oh, yeah.” 

It was a perfect Sunday afternoon, ruined only by the threat of school the next morning. There was music waving through the park, a medley of falsetto pop tunes and bass centric rap fighting for dominance in the cool air. The park was a popular spot for the youth of the city, the tall trees with no intention of losing their leaves in the LA heat providing shade and conveniently sized bushes providing cover for more... illicit activities favored by the high schoolers. 

The park also boasted several bronze lion statues that startled many a stoner. Their eyes would follow you, and if you weren’t paying attention, they’d roar to get the desired reaction. Tony and Gob cut through the statue garden now, the magic shop was on the other side of the grassy green.

After dodging a few flying frisbees, they reached the storefront with relatively little damage. The magic shop was dingy, dirty, and dusty, so much in fact, that most passerby assumed it had been abandoned. 

The boys walked in, and gasped a little, although they tried to hide it. The store was constantly changing, and the two raced to the newest display. 

“Seriously?” A dry voice from the back of the shop got their attention. “You two shitheads again?” 

The owner of the shop was Jenny, a gruff widow with a bonus for remembering everybody she ever met. Shoplifters were terrified of her, and rightly so. Jenny wasn’t above chasing down a punk or two, and she was much faster than her pear shaped frame suggested. 

“Jenny!” Tony greeted her with a diplomatic smile. 

“What’shername!” Gob clearly didn’t have Jenny’s bonus. 

“I literally just said her name, Gob, you’ve met her a dozen times, it’s Jenny-” Tony started the usual whisper lecture but cut it off when his lungs stopped taking in air. Jenny was also known for her bonecrushing hugs. 

“Shitheads. Why are you two looking at my new love potion display? Youse don’t need that.” Her thick Dublin accent was still present, even though she’d been in Orange County for at least twenty years, the shop was that old and she was the original owner.

Gob puffed out his chest. “Damn straight we don’t need it.”

Jenny cocked her eyebrow at Tony, a silent question about Gob’s phrasing. He shook his head a fraction of an inch, and Jenny sighed. 

“Well then, come along now, I’ve got what you’ll be wanting in the back.” Jenny started weaving her way through the stacked exhibits without looking back. The boys hurried along, trying their best to keep up, but no one knew her shop better than Jenny.

In the back, Jenny kept the items that didn’t sell- the magic tricks. Most people didn’t bother with magic tricks- if your best friend could actually make items multiply, disappear, or fly, it ruins the fun of faking it. It was actually considered unclassy to learn sleight of hand games, a sign of weakness, a suggestion that your bonus was inadequate and you wanted to hide it. But not Gob and Tony. The pair had been obsessed about illusions and tricks ever since they first found Jenny’s Magic Shop in third grade. 

They had ditched their chaperone on a school field trip to the park. Tony had been the one to see the shop, Gob had been the one who dragged Tony inside. Jenny had shown them the tricks to keep them out of the more dangerous wares in the main part of the store. They were hooked.

The back room had gradually become their space, although Jenny would never admit it. There was an overstuffed sofa from her flat upstairs that Jenny initially intended to throw away, but after a chorus of begging was convinced to leave in the backroom. A jar of candy beans that ‘magically’ refilled itself whenever it got too low sat ontop of a stack of old Poof magazines, backlogged from the 20s at least. 

Gob immediately ran up to the new shipment. “TONY! There’s a Sandman Illusion!” 

“Oi!” Jenny grabbed it out of his hands. “You have to be sixteen to buy that.”

“I am sixteen!”

“Bullshit.”

“Look at my license!” 

Tony urgently whispered to Gob, “Your license says that you’re twenty one, idiot.”

“Don’t look at my license!”

Jenny put the box back on the shelf. “I’ve known you since you were wee, Gob, you don’t turn 16 until next November. Not even this one, mind you.” Gob deflates, it’s always heartbreaking when he does. “But, Tony, ah-, you just had a birthday, right?”

Tony grins. “Yes, I did. I’m 16. I’m also broke.” Gob is alive again, urgently pulling Tony into a tight huddle. Tony’s not sure if Gob knows Jenny is messing with them. 

“Tony! Shush! Take the money and buy it and meet me in the back alley! Come on! Don’t tell her you’re going to share it with me.”

Gob straightens up after placing a fifty (a fifty, really? Those Bluths-) into Tony’s palm. He coughs and tries to appear nonchalant as he walks out of Jenny’s shop and around the back. Tony and Jenny stare at each other incredulously. 

“Your Gob is a bit of an odd duck, isn’t he?” 

Tony flusters a bit at the possessive, something Jenny thankfully ignores. She goes over to the ancient register. “Anything else, love?”

He rushes to the potions section of the store and grabs another two bottles of QuikHealth. “Gob is a bit excitable, doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Jenny just smiles and hands him the change. 

As he’s on his way out the door, he calls out his goodbye. He can almost swear he hears her burst into laughter at something, some cosmic joke. But Jenny’s Jenny. And Gob is Gob. And right now, they need to see what this Sandman kit can do.

They spend the rest of the evening in the alley, practicing the illusion. Tony is hypervigilant, only letting Gob read the instructions after he swears on his Harry Houdini bedspread that he won’t reveal the magician’s secret. Soon enough, they’re laughing hysterically as they turn a silk top hat into sand and back again. When it gets dark, Gob convinces Tony to sleep over at the Bluth penthouse. They carpool to school anyway. It doesn’t really take much convincing on Gob’s part, Tony sees the way his best friend gets sometimes when it’s time to go home alone. Like he’s afraid in the morning, Tony won’t be there. This may just be wishful thinking on his part though, Tony will find any excuse to stay with Gob.

Lucille purses her lips a little when she sees Gob, but smiles at Tony, and how fucked up is that? Tony is always on the edge of yelling at Lucille, to try and get her to realize how beautiful and wonderful her son is. But Gob pulls Tony away before he can start a fight, and he has enough snacks hidden away in his room that the two don’t need to leave until morning. 

Gob’s younger brother, Michael, comes in around midnight with a cross look on his face. “Mom’s drunk.” He tells them this without preamble or hesitation, just as a fact of life. “I’m going to need a ride to school tomorrow, the driver has the week off.” 

Gob groans. “Come on!”

Tony is a bit more gentle. “Is there anyone else that can take you? Lucille Two?”

Michael sighs, too old for an eleven year old. “Lucille Two had liposuction, she can’t operate heavy machinery for forty eight hours.” 

“Okay, Michael. We’ll get you there.”

Michael smiles, a rare enough sight. “Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem, buddy.”

He goes back to bed, or possibly back to studying. All Michael does is study, according to Gob. 

Tony spends a moment watching his best friend as he rereads one of the Poof magazines he bought from Jenny. Tony suspects that Gob is jealous of Michael, not that he’d ever admit it. Michael has been the favored son ever since his bonus was revealed as a toddler. Michael has what George Sr. calls “business sense”. He knows numbers, and he has an uncanny awareness of where the market is heading next. Lucille hasn’t stopped bragging. She loves to tell everyone, often in earshot of Gob, about how well little Michael is going to run the Bluth Company someday. Tony can see how much Michael wants it. But he also sees how Gob has to swallow his disappointment. Gob would hate being CEO of a company.

But Gob hates being the ignored son more. 

Tony only realizes just how long he’s been staring when Gob starts waving his hand in front of Tony’s nose. 

“Sorry, man, I must just be tired.”

And with that, Gob immediately jumps up, and throws a pair of pajamas at Tony, fussing about how he needs his sleep. The pants are too long by about a foot, but they’re Gob’s, and Tony doesn’t mind. With the lights out, the glow of the city comes through the window leading out to Gob’s balcony. Tony lays back and just soaks it in. This is what he wants in life, really. 

Magic and Gob.

~~

Gob flings himself into Tony’s used minivan, arms and limbs a tangle of righteous fury. “Tony! Look at this!” He shoves a letter into Tony’s face. Tony lets out a sigh, and gestures for Gob to close the door properly and put his seatbelt on while Tony reads the letter. Gob does it, still talking a mile an hour. “Mrs. Freaking Lewis is going to hold me back unless I do her stupid fucking extra credit project! I mean, come on!”

Tony scans the letter. He can’t say he’s surprised, Gob’s academic record is spotty as they come. Still, Gob’s indignation is contagious. “Yeah, what the heck, man.” He starts backing out of the school parking lot, carefully checking all the mirrors as Gob continues explaining the situation. 

“And it’s like, yeah, maybe I haven’t done any of the ‘assignments’ or passed any of the ‘tests’-” Tony spares a glance to make sure Gob isn’t stealing his W sarcasm quotation marks- “but I left, like, three doves in her car! Everyone loves doves!” 

“Yeah, everyone loves doves! What monster doesn’t like doves... Wait, it wasn’t a hot day, was it, Gob?” Tony tries to keep his eyes on the road, even though he can feel his eyes twitching with the effort of not turning to look at Gob.

Gob snorts, and his whole body moves. “Tony, we live in Orange County, every day is a hot day.”

“Gob, we’ve been over this, the doves overheat in hot cars. What happens when doves overheat?”

Gob’s long fingers are fiddling with the dashboard, and usually Tony would tell anyone touching his car to stop, or have him put on gloves or something, but it’s Gob, so it’s okay. “Um, they’re fine?” 

Tony hits the horn, half for emphasis and half to encourage the car in front of him to start moving. “They die, Gob, they just- they die. That’s what they do. They die.”

Gob looks thoughtful. “Oh, yeah.”

“Anyway, couldn’t your dad just buy the school a new gym or something?”

Tony keeps his eyes on the road as Gob squirms in the seat for a few moments. “Mrs. Lewis bet me that I couldn’t do it on my own.”

“Oh hell no! Well, fuck her. Let’s do this, Gobie!” Tony’s grin is all it takes to spark Gob’s up again. “What kind of project does it need to be?”

Gob squints with unusual concentration. “Well, it’s my alchemy course.” Alchemy is notoriously difficult, but their school is trying to improve their test scores in it, so they can get even more copious amounts of funding. Tony suspects it’s to compensate for when the Bluths stop having to pay off the school for Gob’s escapades.

“Such a stupid subject.”

“SUCH A STUPID SUBJECT! But yeah, alchemy. So I’m guessing it needs to be related to that somehow. Oh, but Mrs. Lewis was also all ‘it has to be real magic, not a trick’.”

Tony groans. “A trick is something-”

“A whore does for money, yeah. We do illusions.” Gob looks so proud of himself for remembering.

“Right!”

“Right!” Tony turns down the stereo and waits for the light to change. “Hey, what if we created something that can help magicians? Not an illusion, more like, you know, a tool.” Between the two of them, Gob is the idea man, but Tony often has to help narrow his vision and remind him of reality. Left to his own devices, Gob often veers more towards the abstract and unattainable. Which is great for their personal projects, but when something this important is on the line-

“Hey, I have an idea.” Gob’s voice is much quieter than it usually is when he says that phrase. Normally Gob is loud, booming, proud. He’s gentle now, almost afraid. Tony turns in his seat, staring at his best friend. Gob refuses to meet his gaze, looking off at a place right above the dashboard while he continues.

“You know how we magicians can’t let anyone know our secrets?”

Tony slowly lets out his response. “Yeah?”

“This might be a stupid idea. But what if I had a way to make people forget if they accidentally found out a secret?” Gob is playing with the designer watch he’s been wearing since his sixteenth birthday. Tony secretly hates that watch, it’s too big for Gob’s wrist and just doesn’t look right. But Tony’s always had the impression that it means something special to Gob, he freaks out about fingerprints and smudges whenever someone tries to touch it, so Tony’s kept his mouth shut.

“That’s not a stupid idea at all, Gobie. That sounds perfect.”

And Gob smiles like the sun.

~~~~~

Tony’s mom would kill him, hire a necromancer to bring him back from the dead, and kill him again if she knew where she was right now.

“Uh, Gobie? Are you sure this guy is, you know, cool?” Tony is bouncing with nervous energy. They should be in class right now, but Gob faked a stomach cramp and Tony ‘volunteered’ to walk him to the nurse's office, all so they could meet up with Gob’s ‘hookup’. 

“Nah man, Chris is cool.” Gob’s trying to feign nonchalance, but Tony can tell that he’s anxious too. Whenever Gob gets nervous, he starts talking more quickly, a precursor to his stress stuttering. 

And who is Chris, Tony mocks in his head for a moment. Oh, Chris is just Gob’s drug dealer. Tony didn’t even know Gob HAD a drug dealer, and Tony knows everything about Gob. Or at least thought he knew everything. Clearly he doesn’t. And Tony kind of wishes they could just go somewhere and talk, like they usually do, because not knowing things about Gob’s life freaks him out. But that would probably also just be an excuse to avoid meeting Chris.

Chris was called to drug dealing because of his bonus. Chris can erase memories. Gob just thinks it’s the coolest thing ever. Tony thinks he already hates Chris, and he hasn’t even seen the guy yet.

When Chris emerges from the shadows in a salmon colored polo shirt and dress slacks, beach blonde hair falling in his sea green eyes as he smiles lazily at Gob and they share a complicated handshake, Tony knows he hates him. Because, seriously, is it necessary for him to be that tall? And muscular? 

"Oh hey, Tony, right?" Tony, good manners drilled in, nods and shakes his hand. Chris keeps talking, making too much eye contact with Gob over Tony's head. It makes him feel small and slimy. 

Gob is oblivious as ever, powering through with insane optimism. “Chris! Tony and I have an opportunity of sorts for you.” Chris raises an eyebrow and drops Tony’s hand at last. “We need your sign and bonus bond for my alchemy project.”

Chris winces, running his fingers through his hair. “Sorry Bluth, I don’t think I can do that-”

“I’ll pay you. Is $200 good?” Gob is better at this, negotiating and money and deals. Tony knows how to keep him grounded, remind him of how normal people value money and how much things actually cost, and when someone is taking advantage of him. But Gob spent longer than he realizes hanging out in boardrooms, waiting for George Sr. to get off work and pay attention to him. Gob has absorbed corporate culture, especially how to get his way.

Chris lets out a whistle. “Under normal circumstances, it would be. But, you see, bonus bonding-”

“$300.” 

“Deal.” 

Tony lets out a sigh of relief, now they can get out of here-

“But I need to be involved in the process. I need updates, I need to help you not kill yourself. This is heavy shit, Bluth.” Chris pockets the wad of cash Gob gives him, and with a wink, tells Gob that he has his number for the updates. 

And before Tony can react, or even process what just happened, Chris is gone, disappearing back into the shadows like he arrived. 

Gob jumps up, throws his fist in the air, and yells “Fuck yeah!” at the top of his lungs before he remembers that this is supposed to be a secret. “Oh fuck-” is a whisper this time, and the familiar refrain shakes Tony back to reality, where he is laughing and racing with his best friend, damn Gob’s long legs, trying desperately to get around the corner before a security guard investigates. And when they fall into a pile of silent giggles, Tony thinks for a moment that Gob’s hand rested on his. In the next moment, it’s pulled away, and Tony’s hand is left feeling strangely empty and too warm. 

Tony looks at Gob and decides that he can handle the fallout if his mother finds out they skipped English. “Hey Gobie?” 

“Yeah?” Gob’s eyes are trusting in a way that, Tony realizes now, they weren’t when they were looking at Chris.

“Do you wanna go, you know, get some ice cream?” 

“As long as it’s not-” Gob’s voice is lilting as it sets up their favorite joke.

“A frozen banana!” They finish in unison, a tradition almost as old as their friendship. When they were six and seven, they broke into the Bluth banana stand and made themselves sick, eventually just scooping out fistfuls of chocolate dip and foregoing the bananas. Ever since then, they’ve made a point of getting ice cream instead.

They’ve visited every ice cream parlor in Orange County, and they all try too hard to be different. Some try to be vintage. Some try to be indie. Some try to be space themed or cowboy themed or any other gimmick you can think of. Tony tries to get a different flavor every time. Gob always gets the sweetest flavor they offer, with toppings piled on until it’s a sickening tower of gummy bears and whipped cream and hot chocolate syrup threatening to topple to the ground (Tony always gets an extra bowl to catch Gob’s cone when it shatters, it happens at least half the time). 

Tony does wish Gob would just use a bowl and spoon though.

He’s a bit tired of having to avoid making eye contact while Gob gratuitously licks his cone, making ungodly noises as he eats his ice cream in the most sexual manner possible.

“Tony? Tony? Tony-Tony-Tony-Tony-” Ah shit, Gob is looking at him expectantly, he must have zoned out (again).

“Yes, Gob?” Tony digs into the ice cream he let get melted while he was... distracted. It’s not quite as good as he hoped, but then again, he didn’t really have high expectations for green tea ice cream. This shop is trying too hard to be vaguely East Asian, with a red and gold color scheme and uniforms for the bored employees that come across as slightly racist. 

Gob is studying Tony carefully, with a worried expression one usually finds on puppies, not teenage boys too handsome for their own good. “Do you think love is real, or made up, like that fictional island, you know, um- Greenland? Like, have you ever actually known anyone who was in love?” 

And Tony thinks about it for a while as he finishes his ice cream. He’s not surprised that Gob is asking. George Sr. and Lucille don’t act like they’re in love, it’s hard to believe that they ever were. They act more like they actively hate each other, more than anything else. Tony’s own parents get along fine enough, but they act like they are tired of each other. Tony doesn’t think he’s seen his parents kiss each other in the last year, except for New Years Eve. Love, the kind everyone seems so obsessed with, the kind in the movies Gob and Tony laugh at, doesn’t seem to exist. 

But when Tony tells Gob that, there’s a flash of something, of resignation or of hurt in his eyes that is gone too soon for Tony to understand. 

And Tony feels like he just failed a test he didn’t know he was taking. The boys finish up their ice cream and leave, cracking jokes and sort of smiling, but the ride back home doesn’t feel like the celebration it should be. It feels like the calm before the storm.

~~

Gob is over an hour late, again.

Tony’s stopped looking directly at Jenny, because for every additional minute that ticks by, he swears he can see the pity in her eyes deepen. And Tony just doesn’t fucking need that, okay?

He’s always been the kind of person who would be late to things, but Gob’s never been late to spend time with Tony before, usually because they would have already been together. But over the past few weeks, Gob’s been acting strange, insisting that Tony go ahead to the magic shop without him. Tony’s tried to ask him what’s going on, but Gob just got more and more distant. Tony even tried talking to Michael about Gob, but Michael brushed him off, saying that his older brother is just being wild like always.

But this feels different from the usual level of wildness Gob possesses. And it’s driving Tony up the wall with worry.

“Tony!” Jenny’s sharp voice startles him out of his reverie. Jenny sighs. “Tony, talk to him. You’re just making yourself sick.” Tony opens his mouth to try and argue- “And invisible.” Tony looks down, and oh yeah. He relaxes and slides back into the visible spectrum.

Jenny looks like she wants to give him a hug, but she knows better than to do that. Gob’s the one who thrives off of physical affection. But even that no longer works. The last few times Tony’s tried to literally reach out, Gob has just literally pulled away.

Tony shuffles to the counter, unable to muster the energy to even move properly. Jenny forcibly grabs his chin and lifts it up, until he’s looking her in the eyes. “Tony Wonder, you need to talk to that bloody boy.”

And he tries to sound flippant when he asks “what about?” but the tremble in his voice betrays him.

“You know.” Jenny releases him, and practically pushes him out the door. “And don’t come back until you two work things out.” She pauses, right at the threshold of the shop. “However that may happen to happen.” And Tony sincerely wishes he didn’t get her meaning, because, gross. It’s Jenny.

But for once, Tony doesn’t overthink. He just gets into his crappy van and drives down to the Bluth family penthouse before he can talk himself out of this insane, stupid, reckless mission.

He uses his key to get in, and Lindsay, lounging on the couch, doesn’t bother to look up. There’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, and Tony turns to face Buster. “Hey, Buster Buddy.” And Buster grins, and wheezes out something, a greeting most likely. His asthma always acts up in the spring time. Tony tries to not talk down to Buster, it bothers him sometimes how the rest of the Bluths act like he’s an idiot. “Hey, Buster, do you know when Gob is going to be back?”

Lindsay lifts her head up from her magazine. “Gob? Gob’s been here all afternoon.” She points a lazy, perfectly manicured finger towards his bedroom. Tony tries to mask his confusion, but Lindsay doesn’t notice if he struggles to do so.

Tony starts making his way to Gob’s bedroom, when Buster lays an unfortunately sticky hand on his arm. Tony turns, puzzled. Buster whispers in his ear, too close and too urgently. “Don’t go- don’t go in there, Tony.” Tony ruffles Buster’s hair and tells him that it’s going to be okay, despite every fiber of his being screaming that it won’t be. Tony keeps walking, and Buster sits down and starts rocking back and forth.

Gob’s door is unlocked. Tony just pushes through, there’s nothing he can see that he hasn’t accidentally before.

Except there is.

Because there’s Gob, naked, tangled up with an equally naked Chris. Gob just looks at Tony, a deer in the headlights, and blurts out- “I’m not gay.”

And Tony’s heart is breaking and his reply is automatic and final and lies heavy in the air.

“But I am.”


	3. The Morning After

After running out of the Bluth home, and not having Gob run after him, Tony spends the night thinking every possible scenario for how their morning carpool will go. Gob could not show up. Gob could be mad, Gob could be distant, Gob could tell him it’s alright, Gob could tell him that everything he saw with Chris was a mistake, somehow.

When Tony pulls up in the minivan, bags under his eyes from a sleepless night, Tony thinks that he’s exhausted every possibility.

And then Gob climbs in with a chipper smile.

“Hey Tony. Man, I can’t remember anything from last night, did we go out to a party or something?”


	4. Done, then Gone

The second time Tony comes out to Gob, it’s right before they get to school. He tells Gob, sees the surprise on his face, and sits, stunned, when Gob jumps out of the moving car. 

The third time Tony comes out to Gob, it’s right after Gob saunters into third period English, eyes blank once again. Gob has the nerve to ask Tony what’s wrong, crooked smile falling as he sees the fury in Tony’s eyes. Tony just passes him a note. And in return, Tony gets to watch Gob take a vial out of his jacket pocket and dry swallow a pill. 

The fourth time Tony comes out to Gob, the rest of the class has left and gone to lunch already. Gob is still asleep, so it’s just a whisper.

The fifth time Tony comes out to Gob, Gob has the nerve to look unsurprised and take the pill anyway. As he crashes to the floor, Tony tries to take the pills away from him, but a teacher sees the scuffle and sends him home. As Tony leaves the school, he sees Mrs. Lewis try and rouse Gob.

The sixth time, Tony’s furious. He lets himself into the Bluth apartment and sits on Gob’s bed, waiting for his best friend to come home. Buster brings him an apple juice, and Tony almost tears up at the gesture. He settles on just hugging Buster, and wonders (did somebody say-) why he never took the time to get to know the youngest Bluth. He doesn’t even know Buster’s bonus. It feels too late to ask now.

It’s almost midnight when Gob comes back, stoned and drunk out of his mind. Tony’s anger has cooled a little by now, but when Gob sees him and jumps out the window, onto the terrace, Tony is ready to spit fire. Even a drunk Gob can climb onto the roof more easily than a sober Tony. If Gob falls, he falls with grace. If Tony falls, he just winds up hurt and broken on the ground.

Tony follows him onto the roof anyway. 

Gob’s lost all semblance of being surprised at this point. He just stares morosely off into the distance, his feet dangling over the edge as he takes another swig of whiskey. And for the first time, Gob talks.

“I don’t- don’t. I don’t know what’s going on, Tony. I feel so- so stupid. My head-” Gob tries to point but just pokes himself in the eye. “Ow. My head hurts, Tony.” Gob is crying, and Tony’s still mad, but now he’s worried about how many pills Gob has taken over the past few hours. Tony climbs back down, into Gob’s room. He grabs the blankets off of his bed and carries them up to the roof. Gob is still stuttering and crying. 

“I don’t- I don’t- I don’t know, I don’t remember anything from today- today, should- should? Should I- Should the guy?” Gob is silenced when the blankets fall unceremoniously on his head. Tony is not as gentle as he usually is, practically pushing Gob down and silencing him a lethal look. But Gob is still crying, so Tony sighs and pushes his anger down for a moment. 

“What are you feeling?” Tony’s tired, but he still needs Gob to be okay.

“I- I don’t want-” Gob is on the edge of sleep, hiccuping on his sobs. “I don’t know, I don’t know, Tony. I just have this feeling of- of- of- it’s not- not- jealousy or hungry. It’s just fear and I don’t- I don’t...”

“I don’t want things to change.” And with that, Gob is gone. 

And Tony just stares for a moment. “But I do.” 

The sixth time Tony comes out to Gob, he does it in a letter, scrawled on the back of a flyer, left on Gob’s dresser. And then Tony walks away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gob wakes up hungover in ways he’s never been before. He’s alone, on the roof, and his favorite blanket is covered in vomit. He lets out a groan and tries to block out the sun. When that proves to be too much of a struggle, he mumbles his complaints under his breath as he climbs back inside. And goddamn it, Lucinda is cleaning in his room. Which is, you know, awesome, except that the sound of the vacuum is demonic. 

Lucinda frowns. “Gob, why aren’t you at school?” 

Gob just stares blankly. Lucinda sighs. “It’s Thursday?” 

And normally Gob wouldn’t bother, going to school hungover is beyond annoying. But there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that says he needs to find Tony. 

Wait- “Thursday?”

Lucinda nods, and keeps vacuuming. Gob grabs his bag and decides that he can figure this all out while driving to school. If he hurries, he can probably make it before lunch. 

When he gets to third period English, he takes his seat, avoiding the glares of the teacher. If being late is so bad, why isn’t it illegal? Gob laughs a little to himself, and turns to tell Tony. 

But Tony isn’t there. And Gob feels lost, like he isn’t really there either. He tries to tell himself that Tony’s just sick, just out for the day and forgot to tell him. But some part of Gob knows, just knows, that that’s bullshit.

Tony’s gone. 

And Gob doesn’t know what happened. But he’s pretty sure that it’s his fault, because, fuck it, everything is.


	5. Twenty Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved around some of my chapter breaks, sorry! I'm posting a new one sometime tonight or tomorrow though!

Gob’s eyes are bloodshot and exhausted as they meet the stern brown eyes of the officer on the other side of the cold metal table. She’s been talking for a while, he hasn’t really been following it.

He coughs. “Do you have my wallet?” 

She starts to tell him that this is serious, and he needs to pay attention-

“No, yeah, I get it, in my wallet there’s this, thing, this card, I’m supposed to have it.” The officer waves over another uniformed body, she whispers something and he goes off to get the wallet. A few minutes go by before he returns. 

“Is this it?” He slides the half sheet of paper towards Gob. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Gob tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. He starts to read aloud. “Hello, my name is George Oscar Bluth. I was born 11/24/1967, which was a major mistake- oh really, Michael? I am not reading that...- I have a few questions to ask. One, are you local, state, federal, or international officers?” Gob looks expectantly at the uniformed pair, the man can barely disguise his shock. 

The woman clears her throat. “We’re the local police.” 

“Cool.” Gob turns the card around. “Okay, that means I can speak to you on my own... Next question. What are the charges filed against me?”

"Well." The officers shuffle some papers amongst themselves. "Let's see here... Drunk driving, possession of prohibited substances, and um." The officer looks embarrassed. "Prostitution."

Gob leans forward. "Soliciting or being?"

It's obvious that these officers aren't used to the likes of George Oscar Bluth, which reminds him, when all this is sorted out, to ask where exactly he is. None of them seem familiar anyway. 

"Being. Sir, we do have resources available if you need help-" 

Gob waves away the concern with a bruised and bloodied hand. "It's all good. I just have a few more questions."

The woman officer, whose name tag is currently covered by her long, thick, black braid, nods. "We may still have questions for you, Mr. Bluth. But yes. Continue, please."

The male officer is less composed. "Are you an amnesiac?" He blurts out the question, like it's been bothering him for a while. Gob knows the feeling, but-

"What? No! My iron levels are fine." He looks back down at the card and wills the letters to stay still and work properly. "Um. Where was I... Ah, okay. Is bail set above $4,000?"

"Bail is set at twenty five hundred."

"Awesome." Gob manages a smile. "That means Michael will bail me out. As long as this isn't more than the second time this month. Is it?" 

The woman shrugs. "You have a pretty thick file. I'm not sure if we have it all." Gob appreciates her honesty, at least. 

It didn't really matter. Michael would come anyway. Gob lets out a yawn. "What time is it? Because if it's after 3 pm and before 9 pm, Michael can come get me today. If it's after nine though, he'll be mad." 

The woman officer turns expectantly to the man, who quickly checks his watch. "It's, uh, four thirty?" 

Gob throws a triumphant fist in the air. Or would have, if his hands hadn't been cuffed together. He actually just ends up hitting himself in the face, an unpleasant flash of karma for years of doing the same to Buster. “Ow. Excellent!” Gob leans back in the chair, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “If you could maybe, ah- get on that call, that would just be great.” His flash of a smile doesn’t seem to charm the police woman as much as he’d hoped, but that’s fine.

It’s all fine.

He’s done this before.

The police woman nods one final time, sharp as ever, and walks out of the room. Gob can hear her start dialing the phone, so he directs his full attention to the male police officer for the first time. His name tag says that he is Julian Vorghes. Julian looks almost startled by the strength of Gob’s gaze, which, let’s face it, isn’t exactly new. 

“Do you have any further questions for me? Officer?” Julian blinks, hard, and starts flipping through his yellow legal pad. 

“Actually, yes, Mr. Bluth. Um- do you remember what you took before you started driving the vehicle in question?” 

Gob’s smile falters a bit. “No, I don’t remember anything.” 

“Right, okay.” Julian makes a note of something on the legal pad, then puts it away. “Actually, sorry, but... is this memory loss normal for you?” He stands up and starts to pace the room. “It seems like something you should get checked out.” 

“It’s, ah- it’s self induced, officer.” And that’s why Gob has that stupid card. It’s not enough that nobody trusts him, he can’t even trust himself. 

Julian’s a professional at least, he manages to gloss over the horror that flickers in his eyes and focus on fulfilling his curiosity. “How?”

And isn’t it sick, that Gob’s a little proud of this, after all that it’s cost him? “An old alchemy project. I don’t, you know, remember exactly how I did it, but I have the spell sign and the process down to a science. There are some other people who- wait is this illegal?” 

He shrugs. “Probably. Or at least, it would be, if someone else had done it, but there isn’t anything on the books about memory loss. As long as you’re still responsible for your behavior and pay all reparations, I suppose we just treat it like getting blackout drunk. Which it seems like you also did, and you really shouldn’t do. Are you sure we can’t get you a flyer or a hotline number or something?”

Gob laughs, and it comes out more harshly than he intended, but hey. “A hotline for what?” There was a class somewhere, once, that talked about personal problems and societal issues. Most of it was stupid, but Gob remembers the difference. What he has is a personal problem, a ‘just Gob situation’ as Michael once mockingly called it. They don’t make hotlines for those.

And Julian laughs too, a bit more hesitantly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Mr. Bluth.” The woman officer pokes her head back into the room. “Your brother is here to take you home.”

“Can I uh- can I please get uncuffed, first?” 

Julian rushes forward with the keys, and the cool air on his wrists feels as good as it always does. Gob rubs at them for a moment, just to get the circulation back. “Wait! Shit! Fuck!”

“Language, please, Mr. Bluth.”

Gob turns towards the woman officer, panic rising in his throat. “Do- do- you have my watch?” And Gob knows it’s stupid, but it’s his watch, and he’s managed to not lose it for so long, so fucking long-

But the officer- Ishna, he can read now, is calm and collected as ever. “Yes, Mr. Bluth, the contents of your wallet, watch, and uh-” She coughs. “Dead dove? Are waiting for you by the front desk.”

“Good.” Gob tries to control his walk out, but his heart doesn’t feel right until the watch is on his wrist again. The weight of it is familiar, and it’s almost like a talisman of sorts. He needs to have it on. He points to the dead dove. “Do you have a paper bag for this, by any chance?”

One manila envelope later, and Gob finally feels ready to go out and greet his favorite brother. 

Michael barely looks at him. He just signs the forms, hands over a check, and starts walking out the police station, without even glancing back to make sure Gob is following him. Shit. Gob starts trying to place where today is in the month. Maybe this is actually more than the second time, that’s one of Michael’s rules and if he’s broken one of Michael’s rules then Michael probably hates him, Michael doesn’t want to be here, Michael-

Michael holds open the passenger door and gestures for Gob to climb in. It’s the first real look at his face Gob’s gotten, and his stomach drops when he sees the new worry lines on Michael’s face. Something must have happened, to George Michael or Lindsay or Maeby or Buster or Mom or Dad. And he wasn’t there. Maybe their family got in trouble because of something he did, maybe he was the one who wrecked the tenuous peace they had found with the feds. Shit.

Gob’s inner train of thought that is going further and further off the rails is interrupted when Michael finally speaks. 

“Do you know how long this last bender was, Gob?”

And Gob tries to remember the last thing he can remember, but it’s hard. The weather is always the same in Orange County. He’s pretty sure that it’s October now, but he can’t really remember the last time he saw the family. He’s always just sort of done his own thing. 

So his voice is quiet when he responds. “No, I don’t know. What happened? What’s wrong?” Gob takes a deep breath. “Is George Michael okay?” 

Michael looks at Gob for the first time since picking him up from the police station. And it feels like the first time in a long while, really. “George Michael is fine.” Michael redirects his gaze to the road. “Why do you hate yourself, Gob?”

And it feels like a ton of bricks has hit him in the chest. “What?”

“Why do you hate yourself? Because I know you don’t hate us. You kind of like us. But every time things start to go right for you, you panic. You run off.” Michael turns the wheel, sharp, and suddenly they are on the highway. “Are you tired of it? Because I’m tired of it. You were missing for three weeks, Gob. We filed a missing person's report. We thought someone maybe kidnapped you, because who knows? We have a lot of enemies. But no. It was you, screwing over yourself and your own future, just like you always do.” He hits the horn for emphasis, inspiring a chorus of other horns echoing back the sentiment. “Fuck.”

Gob just sits there, taking it, until he’s certain that Michael is done. “What do you want me to say, Michael? That I’m sorry I screwed up again?”

“No, I want you to say that it won’t happen anymore. But that would be a lie, and we’ve had more than enough lying in this family.” Michael looks older than ever. He turns the radio on, but keeps the volume low. 

Gob twists his watch around his wrist a few times, the pressure a small comfort. “So, what happens now?”

And Michael’s voice is strong again, bossy, like always. “We’re going to get you down to Uncle Oscar.”

“Doesn’t he live in the desert?”

“No! Well. Yes. But this will be good for you, Gob. You can take some time off, sober up.” And Michael gestures to the back of the vehicle. “I packed up some of your things, you’re all set.”

And Gob tries not to cry. “You’re sending me away?”

“It’s not forever. Just until you, you know, sort yourself out.” 

“I’m a grown man, Michael!”

The look Michael gives him is cutting. “Are you, Gob?” When Gob doesn’t answer, Michael takes it as a sign to continue, which it definitely was not. “Because you keep trying to pursue a career as a magician. You’re obsessed with this ludicrous idea that Tony Wonder is your nemesis-”

Of course Michael doesn’t understand, he never has. He just doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know. “He is! He’s my rival! Tony Wonder is-” 

Michael interrupts, like always. “He’s not though, okay, Gob? He’s just another illusionist who happens to be doing better than you.”

“He is not doing better than I am!” Gob pouts in his seat. “He just did a show in Las Vegas, how lame is that?” 

“I thought you didn’t remember the last three weeks?”

“Was that in the last three weeks? Huh.” Gob sits up a little taller. “I guess I just held onto that one. Weird.”

Michael doesn’t press it, thankfully. “Which reminds me, Gob, I need you to give me those damn pills and that spell sign.”

Gob’s words of protest are drowned out by Michael’s shouting.

“Seriously! Gob, you have a problem! Give them over, or so help me, I will tell Uncle Oscar you want to go vegan!” They struggle over the pill packet for a few minutes, until Michael almost crashes and Gob gives in.

“Here.” Gob throws the pills to Michael, who manages to catch them with one hand, the other firmly on the wheel. It figures, Dad always had time to play catch with Michael. It’s fine, anyway, at least he still has-

“And the spell sign too.”

Shit. Gob slowly pulls it out of his wallet, and passes it gently to Michael. “Please, just, please don’t loose it, okay? Can you do that for me, Michael?”

Michael takes the bloodied paper carefully. “I’ll lock it up. I won’t promise you that you’ll get it back, it's caused everyone nothing but trouble. But. It will be safe. I don’t want George Michael finding this.”

After that, they drive in silence. What else is there to say? Gob falls asleep after half an hour of watching the cattle on the hills graze. Michael, in an act of passive aggression that Gob really should have seen coming, turns up the music until Gob wakes up again. Gob tries to glare at Michael, but the jerk has his eyes firmly on the road. 

Eventually, they pull up next to adobe huts and climb out into 104 degree heat. Uncle Oscar comes out and gives Gob a sweaty hug. “Nephew! Partially namesake nephew! Welcome!”  
Oscar proudly gestures to the dry earth. “Welcome to spiritual paradise.” 

Gob turns to run, but Michael knows him too well. Michael is already in the car, and Gob’s bags are on the ground, and then Michael is gone before Gob can beg to go back with him.

As the car races off, a flyer flutters dramatically to Gob’s feet.

“Tony Wonder, The Gay Magician, Returns to Newport Beach for his Greatest Illusion Ever.” 

Oscar hurriedly snatches the flyer out of Gob’s hands. “Michael said you, you weren’t supposed to know about that. Whoops.” He lets out a chuckle. “It must have, uh, been on the windshield of the car.” He grips Gob by the arm, far too tightly, and steers him to a hut. “Let’s just pretend we didn’t see that, okay?”

Gob is pushed to the floor and onto a yoga mat, where he is coaxed into getting into a position called “downward lizard”, which Gob’s 85% sure Oscar made up. But it doesn’t matter. Gob is just biding his time.

After all, he has a “Greatest Illusion Ever” to crash, and a former best friend to upstage.


	6. The Show and the Spy

Three days, fourteen napkins filled with notes, and one sweat lodge session later, Gob’s escape plan is finally ready to be put into action. Now, all he needs is a blonde wig, two canisters of film, a barrel of lighter fluid, and a motorcycle sidecar.

Then he notices that Oscar’s Prius is unlocked, and goes for a much simpler plan.

The engine is quiet when he slips away in the middle of the night. Gob almost wishes he had a different getaway car, something flashier, something louder, something to wake up Oscar and maybe inspire him to run after Gob as he races across the desert. Or something like that, it’s not like he needs the attention. But still. The drive is too quiet. Hardly anybody else is on the road at this hour, and the only music playing on the radio at this hour is easy listening jazz. Which is better than being left completely alone with his thoughts, so Gob leaves it on. But jazz can’t drown out those annoying inner nagging thoughts like the classics can, rock and roll and everything electric. 

And Gob’s annoying inner nagging thoughts are ruthless tonight.

The thing they don’t tell you, when you first get addicted to wiping your own memory, is how many questions you’re left with. What day is it? Why are you mad at me? What did I do? Who died? Who is the president? Did Sandra Bullock find someone good enough for her yet?

At night, those questions come back, stronger than ever. And Gob doesn’t really have the answers. He roughly knows his plan for the next three and a half hours. After that, he’ll just wing it. 

When Gob finally gets back to Newport Beach, the sun is starting to rise. He parks the car just outside the city limits. For some reason, Michael doesn’t want him around, so he’s going to have to be sneaky, and Oscars Prius has a massive marijuana decal on the side. Which is probably why all those cops pulled him over, now that he thinks about it. 

After taking a tentative sniff of his shirt, Gob decides that his first order of business is to find a shower. He needs to be clean for the big showdown, which is what he's decided to call his totally epic inevitable battle with Tony Wonder. But the model home is out of the question. Which means that he has to break into his mother's luxury penthouse at Balboa Towers. Gob just hopes some of his father’s suits are still in the coat closet.

It’s easy enough to scale the outside of the building. Gob can simply jump from balcony to balcony, until he is holding his breath, perfectly still, hoping beyond hope that Lucille doesn’t get the urge for a smoke break any time soon. 

Then Gob remembers that it’s seven in the morning, and that Lucille won’t be up before ten, and only then if Lupe brings her a morning bloody mary. So Gob should be safe. He picks the lock on the sliding glass door and slips in. He almost trips on the tracks of an elaborate toy train that’s been set up around the living room. Once he catches his balance, Gob starts making his way to the front hall. After grabbing two armfuls worth of suits, he tiptoes over to Lucille’s recently remodeled bathroom. He figures that once he’s in there, he can just lock the door and Lucille can’t kick him out until he’s ready to come out, dressed impeccably in a - he eye balls the top most suit- $6,000 suit.   
Gob’s hand is on the doorknob when he feels someone breathing on his neck.

“HEY brother!” 

Gob barely manages to stifle his scream. He drops all of the suits on the floor and turns around to face Buster, man to man.

“I’m guessing that’s your train set?” Gob shifts his weight from foot to foot, hoping Buster doesn’t ask him what he’s doing at Balboa towers at 7 am. Buster looks delighted at the question, however.

“Yes, it is! Well. Actually it’s your old train set, I just found it, cleaned it up, you know how it is.” He lets out a laugh. “I set up the track just like we had it before, when we were kids.”

“Oh, from a photograph?” Gob is barely listening, so he misses the strange look Buster gives him.

“No.” Buster lights up. “Oh! But, look at what I got in the mail!” He picks up a formal invitation from the corner table. There’s a massive W on the back, in gilt gold, and Gob’s heart is in his throat. Buster begins to read aloud. “Dear Buster- I’d be delighted if you could attend my show tonight at the Little Ballroom. It was so great to catch up. See you there! From the assistants of Tony Wonder.” Buster keeps giggling while the floor is tilting underneath Gob’s feet.

Gob grips Buster’s shoulders, partially for emphasis and partially to keep himself grounded.

“Are you telling me that you spoke with Tony Wonder recently?” 

Buster doesn’t seem bothered by how tightly Gob is gripping him. “Yeah! I ran into him on the pier a few days ago, he asked if I remembered him, which was rather silly, as you know.” Buster gives Gob another look, but sighs and moves on when Gob stares blankly in return. “So anyway, we got to talking, and he told me about his new magic show! And then he sent me this invitation! Isn’t that just the cat’s pajamas?” 

Gob mentally throws out the plan he had to disguise himself as a caterer.

“That’s great! Hey, Buster, is there any chance that invite comes with a plus one?” Gob is trying desperately to be casual, but his palms are sweating. Is it weird that his palms are sweating?

Buster considers it for a moment. “Well, I was going to take mother, but. She is in prison, so-”

“Wonderful! Thank you! Thank you!” Gob descends on Buster in a flurry of hugs and awkward pats on the back.  
Buster smiles, a little nervously. “Does that mean you’re gonna tell Tony Wonder about your crush on him? Because I really think-”

“What? No. No! I don’t- I don’t have a crush on, what, on Tony Wonder?” The room is spinning again, and Gob tries to focus, tries to center himself. “Tony Wonder is my nemesis, my rival. I ha-” but that’s not quite right, he doesn’t hate Tony. “have a long outstanding rivalry with him. I don’t like him. I mean I kind of like him but I don’t like like him.”

Buster whispers something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘oh my god’, but he lets the topic drop, and so does Gob. 

“I’m just going to- uh- I’m just going to get ready.” Gob points to the shower. “Can you maybe not tell Mom I’m here? Michael kind of tried to ditch me in the desert.”

“Oh. Okay.” And with that, Buster wanders off. Gob is left standing there, on the edge of all his plans coming to fruition, with only a few small doubts about the tingling sensation in his fingertips. Because that’s totally what it feels like to think of your nemesis, right?

~~

The Little Ballroom is so packed, Gob can barely move. He fiddles with his shirt collar because, shit, he should have worn the other shirt, the grey one. Tony always liked grey on Gob. Not that he’s dressing up for Tony, or anything. Tony just always had good taste in clothes.

Cursing his outfit choice, Gob drags Buster to the bar. He needs a drink, or twelve. 

“Oh hell no.” The bartender scowls at Gob and points to a sign at the bar. There’s a crappy snapshot of a very drunk Gob, and scrawled underneath is Gob’s fourth least favorite phrase in the English language: “Do Not Serve.”

“Come on!” Gob tries make pleading eye contact with the bartender, but the man refuses to look at Gob. 

“Yeah, no way man. Get out of here before I call security.” Buster almost whines at that, his fear of authority kicking in at the most inconvenient moment, as usual. Gob glances at Buster, who still has the invite in his pocket. Gob needs to stay and see the show more than he needs the drink, he decides. So, Gob, with great dignity, flips the bartender the bird and sprints away as quickly as he can, dodging and weaving through the crowd.

The spectator area is already filling up. Gob walks straight to the front, and one “sir, I think your car is being towed” later, he and Buster are set up with a perfect view. As the lights in the club flicker and dim, Gob leans over to Buster and starts whispering the plan in his ear.

“Okay, so we’re going to watch the show straight through. After it ends, I need you to help string me up to that steel beam thingy.” Gob’s plan is flawless. All he needs is Buster’s enthusiastic cooperation-

“Wait, what?” Gob has to physically hold Buster down to stop him from leaving. He just needs to get through his plan, then Buster will see. Everyone will see.

“I’ll be fine, I’m going to do the reverse snake trick, it’s going to blow their socks off. Stupid Tony Wonder.” The woman behind them tries to shush Gob. “Well that’s just rude.” When more patrons join in, Gob finally stops talking and looks up on stage. Buster stops struggling and lets down his guard a little. 

The stage set up is simple but obviously highly thought out. There’s a carved wooden armoire, and Gob recognizes it from the article Poof did on Tony a few years ago. The armoire is illuminated by the spotlight now, Gob can barely make out the rest of the furniture, although it looks to be set up sort of like an eerily familiar bedroom.

Suddenly, Tony’s voice comes over the sound system and Gob feels just like he did when the wiring in his Saints Descending bit got crossed; his heart stops for a moment and his head feels light and Gob almost actually checks underneath his chair to make sure the wires aren’t crossed again. 

“Society.” Fog begins to roll over the stage, and Tony’s voice over continues. “Society says that magic-” there is a flash of lightning, only it can’t be lightning because it’s on stage, but Gob isn’t trying to figure out how he does it, Gob is just trying to breathe normally “-is a waste of time.” A grandfather clock rises from the ground, shrouded by mist. The clock’s ticking is amplified by a hidden mic, and the ominous sound reverberates through the club.

“Society says that I-” Tony appears, suddenly, perched on top of the clock and Gob barely has enough time to take it in before he disappears again “-should stay quiet, invisible.”

Oohs and ahhs roll through the crowd. Tony’s voice over continues, and is the ticking speeding up? “Am I even here? Am I even meant to be? Well-” and Gob’s not sure how many times Tony has practiced this, because he has it timed so that his three big knocks from the closet are synced with the chiming of the clock. On the third knock, the third chime, Tony bursts out in a cloud of glitter.

“Well, I’m here, I’m queer, and now I’m over there!” True enough, Tony is now front and center stage. With his arms outstretched and the crowd going wild, he looks like a rockstar.

This is the first time Gob’s seen Tony up close for a while. They’ve almost crossed paths dozens of times, at magician events and such, but Tony’s almost always avoided Gob. They nod and smile and say hello when they need to, but Tony can turn invisible, after all, and he apparently isn’t afraid to use it. 

Gob is on the edge of his seat for the entire first act. Tony does fire illusions, an escapist bit, a classic “saw the lady in half trick”, and the show ends in an elaborate smoke and mirrors chase with apples and watches and slight of hand theft. Gob is on his feet, applauding with the crowd, and doesn’t realize why Buster is watching him nervously until the curtain closes. Oh, right. Now he needs to upstage Tony Wonder. Because they are enemies. Right.

Gob is scoping out the steel beam he plans to float down from when he realizes he’s lost Buster. 

Somehow, Buster wandered away, and now he’s at the bar, laughing and talking with- Tony?

Shit. Shitshitshit. Gob’s first instinct is to run, and hope they haven’t seen him. Which is silly, why would he run? Oh yeah, he did something awful a long time ago and ruined everything. He doesn’t even know what it was, he just knows it was his fault. Shit. 

Before Gob can figure out what to do, or even finish panicking properly, Buster shouts out a “Hey Brother!” that sends everyone looking at him, and Buster is waving, and Gob has no choice but to join Buster in talking to a slightly uncomfortable looking Tony Wonder.

Gob’s throat is tight. “Hey. Nice show.” Tony continues to smile awkwardly, nodding a bit too much. “Thanks.” Buster glances between the two men, and tries to start up anything remotely resembling a conversation. 

But, being Buster, he fails spectacularly. “So.” He waves a hand at Tony. “I like that you’ve incorporated the gay thing into your act.”

Watching Tony wince is physically painful. Gob jumps in before he can think about how he’s supposed to be enemies with Tony. “Your stage presence is captivating.”

Tony’s smile this time is a genuine one, and something flips inside Gob’s brain, a switch or a gear that’s snapped into place for the first time in a while. Gob is trying to piece together what the hell just happened while Tony just talks and talks, which is weirdly adorable, and he would listen, but he just needs to-

“Thanks, Gob. I actually saw your show a few years back, the one you did at the country club for that fundraiser your sister was doing? I think it was for more fish or less fishing or something. Anyway, just- You have a really great energy out there, you know?”

-and shit, Tony is looking at him and Gob is pretty sure he just was asked a question. 

“Totally.” Gob forces a laugh, and crap. He subtly checks out the bar. It’s a new bartender, maybe this one will take pity on him. He waves, and the man turns. “Yeah, I’d like a vodka, please?”

The bartender winks and pulls off a bald cap. Oh fu- “Gene Parmesian, how you doing?”

Buster claps excitedly, barely controlling his upper body. Gob feels like he needs two drinks now. “Gene Parmesian. Wait.” Gob remembers that he’s supposed to be in the desert with Oscar. He ducks behind Buster, using him as a human shield for the upteenth time in their lives. “Who are you working for? Mother? Michael?”

Gob can hear Tony muttering under his breath about the Bluth family and how things never change.

Gene’s smile is unnerving. “Actually, neither. I’ve been hired to track down you-” Gene points to Gob, “and you-” then to Tony, which surprises everyone. Gene wrinkles his brow. “You are Tony Wonder, right?”

Tony is all business. “Yes. What is this about?” Gob can see the shift in his body language. Tony goes from relaxed (wait, relaxed?) to straight backed, head held high, ready for orders, ready for action.

“It’s about the last will and testament of Jenny Reilly.”

Tony and Gob respond at the same time, voices lapping over each other.

“Jenny’s dead?” “Jenny has a last name?”

Gene’s voice is grim when he corrects Gob. “Had. Mrs. Reilly passed away three months ago. It took some time to find her will, and more time still to find you two slippery bastards. Her instructions were very clear. You two are both summoned to a meeting tomorrow, eleven am, at the courthouse. I assume you know where it is, Gob?”

“That’s a bit unfair.” Gene and Buster both give him a look. “But yeah, I know where it is.”

Gene claps his hands. “Good. You can show Tony.” He ignores the increasingly irritated bar patrons. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for another mission.” Gene ducks behind the bar, but the top of his head is still visible. Gob decides to ignore it.

Tony is sitting on a barstool, and his feet can’t reach the rungs. Gob fights back the urge to hug Tony, to touch him. He fiddles with his watch for a moment, missing the tiny glare Tony gives it. Gob should say something eloquent, something, something.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Gob pulls up his own barstool and joins Tony. His own legs are too long to comfortably rest on the rungs. Tony looks tired, and older than he should. Still looks great though. Gob subtly admires Tony’s hair, there’s a permanent purple streak in there now, more subtle than when they were kids. 

He’s about to start admiring Tony’s lips for some reason when they start moving. Tony is looking down, but the words are meant for Gob.

“This might be crazy. But despite everything, I’m still glad- glad that you’ll be there tomorrow.”

And it’s all Gob can do to whisper a reply, while his world is crashing and rebuilding itself on a new foundation, the foundation that he loves Tony Wonder, the paralyzing fear, no, knowledge, that Tony doesn’t love him back, the flush of giddiness when he sees that it doesn’t matter, he still loves Tony anyway, everything is chaotic and true and nothing else can encompass all of these things except-

“Same.”


	7. Barry and Wayne

Gob can’t help but let out a shudder when he pulls into the courthouse. He’s spent too much time there, between George Sr. and Lucille and several of his own legal issues. But, he supposes that meeting in a bar or something isn’t professional enough. 

Although, technically, Gene Parmesian did meet with him in a bar, just last night. So then why the hell are they meeting at the courthouse?

Gob’s still grumbling about the hypocrisy while he searches for Room 411. In addition to being the source of dozens of bad memories, the courthouse is bizarrely laid out. There are hidden corridors and none of the numbering makes sense. Either that or Gob didn’t sweat out enough of the drugs in his system while he was in the desert, which is a reasonable enough hypothesis. Gob hopes he’s not still high. 

But if he’s high, it might mean that he’s not actually in love with Tony. The missed heartbeats, the sweaty palms, the churning in his stomach, could just be the remnants of his latest chemical cocktail.

Gob’s trying to figure out why that doesn’t feel as relieving as it should when he sits down at the oaken conference table. 

Everyone else is already there. Gob’s chosen, more by instinct than anything else, the seat next to Tony. Once he realizes this, he avoids Tony’s gaze, choosing to look around the room instead of anywhere near Tony. The room is spacious, and pretty enough to the eye, he supposes. Across the table is Gene Parmesian, dressed normally (or at least as normally as he can dress), Wayne Jarvis, and Barry Zuckercorn. Gob can’t help but ask.

“Why do we need two lawyers?”

Barry looks hurt. “Is that any way to greet an old family friend? Get your tight ass over here!”

Wayne Jarvis cuts in. “You are under no obligation to do so, and I would advise Mr. Zuckercorn to avoid phrasing that can be construed as sexual harassment.”

Tony looks confused, but Gob just nods. “Ah, another one of those?”

Barry sighs. “Yeah. So Wayne here-” he tries to pat Wayne’s shoulder but he dodges, and Barry slowly lets his hand drop in defeat “- is sticking around, helping advise me. This is one smart fella.”

“I did go to law school, sir.”

“And you keep rubbing that in. I don’t keep bragging about how I banged three hot-”

Tony clears his throat. “Hey, you know, this is great, catching up and all, but I’d like to know why we’ve been called down here. Can we maybe get to it?”

All it takes is something as simple as that, Tony taking charge, which Gob has probably seen hundreds of times, but it feels different now. That’s all it takes to send his heart racing, to feel like the air is ripped from his lungs. Like he’s not just watching Tony talk to some people, but like he’s watching something magnificent and historic and, well, wonderful. 

So maybe it’s not drugs, then.

Wayne and Barry look at each other, and through some unspoken agreement, Wayne is the one who opens an intimidating manilla folder. Gob feels guilty the second that thought processes, whatever is inside that folder is the last Jenny related memory he’ll ever have. But it’s hard to make a folder like that sentimental.

Everything feels distant when Wayne starts to read. 

“I, Jenny Rielly, of Newport Beach, California, declare this to be my last will and testament. I request that all end of life care and funeral expenses be paid from my designated trust fund for those matters. As for my shop on Palomar and Main, I leave that to George Oscar Bluth and Tony Wonder. I also leave for them a sealed letter each, which they are only to open as a last resort.”

Wayne slides an envelope labeled “Gob” across the table. Barry slides a similar envelope labeled “Tony”. No one says anything for a few moments.

Tony’s voice is high and a little tight. “Wait, what?” 

“My sentiments exactly.” Gob fights the urge to open the envelope, because really, he doesn’t see a whole lot of other options to find clarity in this clusterfuck of a situation. Why the hell would Jenny trust him with her shop? Tony, he could understand but... Gob’s own father doesn’t want him running their business. 

Barry scolds them. “Now, come on boys! This is a good thing. Mostly. There’s just the, ah, one small problem-”

Wayne cuts in. “The shop in question is currently under a second mortgage. You’ll need to pay that off before you can sell the store.”

 

“Sell it? Why would we sell it?” Gob looks frantically at Tony, who thankfully seems to be in agreement. 

“It’s a lot of work, it hasn’t been doing all that great.” Barry’s voice is sympathetic. “Plus, you don’t know anything about running a small business like that!”

“Uh, excuse me, but I don’t know a lot about a lot of things and I’m doing fine.” Gob realizes that maybe Barry knows a bit too much about his escapades to buy that, but still, it’s a matter of principal.

Tony stands up. “I agree with Gob. We aren’t going to sell it.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Wonder, but where do you think you’re going to find the time?” Wayne is a buzzkill. Gob has officially decided that Wayne is a major buzzkill.

Tony straightens, bringing himself to his full 5 foot 7 height. Gob tries to stop thinking about how perfectly he would fit under his head if he were to hug Tony. “For Jenny? I’ll make the time.” He glances at Gob and Gob holds his breath without meaning to. “Gob and I can... work out the details later.” 

Gob hastily stands up too, almost trips over his own feet when he tries to push in his chair.

“Wait! There’s one more thing.” Barry looks a little constipated, which is never a good sign. “There’s ah, an apartment above the shop. I’m not sure if you need legal counsel to sort out sharing that.” 

Tony shakes his head once, annoyed. “I already have a place downtown with all of my stuff, I don’t want to have to move.”

Gob clears his throat. “Although I totally have a place to live, like, I mean, totally, that is a thing I have- I’d be willing to, you know, housesit the apartment for maintenance reasons, if you want.”

Wayne looks stern. “I feel obligated to clarify to the room that what Mr. Bluth just said was a lie.”

“Hey.” Is all Gob can get out, pathetically. He starts tugging at his ever present wrist watch, hoping that Tony maybe didn’t hear that.

“Eh, whatever, it’s perfect!” With a flourish, Barry signs something at the bottom of the paper. “Now, boys, come over here and give Uncle Barry your John Hancock!” 

After Tony and Gob sign the will, Wayne ushers them out of the room, muttering about efficiency. And then there they are, alone in the hallway, silence roaring in Gob’s ears as he tries not to think about how close Tony’s hand is to his own. He takes a step back and rubs the back of his neck, just to give his hands something else to do.

Tony seems to deflate now that they’re out of that room, and Gob gets it. 

“Wow.”

Even Tony’s small laugh turns Gob to mush. “Yeah.” The silence is more comfortable now, even though the years they’ve spent apart are clearly weighing on both their minds. Tony looks distracted, and Gob can’t blame him. They’ve just been given a lot to think about. But still.

“Do you wanna, I don’t know, go get some ice cream?”

For a second, Gob is positive that Tony is going to refuse. The last time they got ice cream was twenty years ago, and that ended as so many things end in Gob’s life; with him alone in his room and hurting. Maybe Tony doesn’t even like ice cream anymore.

“As long as- um. Yeah, sure.” Tony’s smile is cautious. “Do you want to go somewhere old or new?”

The place they end up picking is this New Age shop called Gemni and Gelato. All of the ice cream flavors are named after constellations or colors. Even vanilla is renamed Sirius, which really doesn’t make as much sense as the smug employee seems to think. Gob tries to scan the tubs for something familiar, but it’s surprising how much names let you know what flavors to expect. 

“What’s the sweetest flavor here?” Hey, being direct is the way to go. Gob tries to flirt with the employee, but she just gives him a glare that says no way. 

She pushes up her thick rimmed glasses with a sneer. “If you can’t tell by the name, you aren’t ready to experience it.”

Tony whispers under his breath that she’s a butthole, and Gob tries not to laugh. Tony starts helping him look.

“Paisley maybe? That’s a kind of intense pattern, and it doesn’t look too fruity.”

Gob tries to get a closer look, but the counter girl glares yet again and tells him to get his fingers off the glass. 

“What about Leo? Aren’t Leos supposed to be flashy?” 

True enough, that one has visible cookie bits and fudge. But it also looks like there’s glitter flakes, and Gob’s not sure if this store has bothered to get the edible kind. 

Tony pokes him and Gob jumps more than a little. “Shit, sorry. But, hey, look at this one.” The flavor Tony is pointing to is called Purple Haze, and it is a mess of purple dye, marshmallow, caramel, cookie dough, and brownie batter. Gob starts grinning a little maniacally. 

“Oh hell yeah.”

For once, Tony orders the same thing as Gob. When they sit down on the loveseat (two seat couch, Gob corrects in his head), Gob just cocks an eyebrow at their matching scoops. Tony shrugs. “I haven’t had Purple Haze yet.” Gob tries to swallow the random lump in his throat.

“Do you come here often?”

“Nah, first time here.” Tony looks at Gob. “Is that okay?”

Gob takes a massive lick. “Perfect.” His cone almost breaks with the force, and he sees Tony tense up. “Are you okay?”

Tony laughs, but it comes out a little high. “Yeah, I’m just worried about your cone.” He gestures with his spoon to the extra bowl sitting in the middle of the table. “Don’t be ashamed to give into the bowl life.” 

When they finish, Gob feels a bit steadier on his feet. “Do you want to go by the magic shop now?” Tony nods, and they wordlessly climb back into Tony’s car. Gob almost wishes they could put on the radio, but he can’t think of a music genre that would feel right. They make small talk as best they can, but once it becomes clear that they’d rather be left to their own thoughts, they just sit in silence as they get closer and closer to the old park. 

Gob has a million memories racing in his head, of hanging out in Jenny’s back room, helping her restock the front shelves, of playing in the back alleyway. When he was doing his half a semester at the local state school, he had to write a short story about home. It was the only thing he did there that he felt was half decent, but the professor gave him a “C” because he didn’t “address the prompt”. Gob spent half an hour arguing with him before he quit school altogether, he still feels like the shop should have counted. The penthouse certainly wasn’t home in the sense the professor meant.

He’s pulled out of his reverie by the sound of Tony trying to stifle his laughter. Gob’s first panicked thought is that he’s been speaking out loud and that Tony is laughing at him. But Tony doesn’t laugh at him in person, that only happens in his dreams, and so it is probably hopefully something else.

Tony’s still laughing when he finally answers the question written on Gob’s face. “Do you remember when we were ten, and even though you can super jump, you got stuck in that tree during recess?”

Weirdly enough, it’s a happy memory. “I wasn’t stuck like I couldn’t get down, I was stuck because-”

“Your pants ripped, right.” Tony shoots Gob a teasing smile. “I remember.”

“You stayed with me all afternoon. You cut class.”

Tony fakes a cough. “Actually, I bribed that kid who sits next to me to tell that obnoxious teacher, what was it, Call Me Erica, that I was having a ‘difficult morning’ and wanted to be invisible for the afternoon.”

“Oh my god. You were such a little shit.”

“Call Me Erica had it coming.” Tony’s laughter is officially infectious. “She was a neo-Freudian, she thought kids with invisibility bonuses were repressed.” 

They stay like that for a while, swapping stories and memories. In the back of his mind, Gob notices that they don’t stray too close to the end, their high school years. Instead, they focus on when they were little and clumsy and their biggest problems were all detention related. When Tony finally finds a spot and they start walking over to Jenny’s (their) magic shop, the air that was so easy to breathe before thickens.

The shop is covered in a layer of dust and grime. The front window has been broken, although someone, probably Barry or Wayne, crudely placed some plywood over the opening. Tony and Gob exchange a nervous glance. Tony is the one who ultimately pushes open the door, Gob trailing behind him.

“Shit.” There is still some stock on the shelves, but everything is dusty and disorganized. Tony starts rubbing his temples while Gob looks behind the counter. There is something suspiciously nest-like there, and Gob privately resolves to call Steve Holt’s exterminating company.

Gob hears a sigh and a soft thumping sound, and looks up. Tony is gently banging his head against the wall, which would be funny if he didn’t seem so distressed. 

“Tony. Hey, Tony.” Tony stops hitting himself. He turns to Gob, not making eye contact. His forehead is reddened, and Gob absentmindedly thinks about how a slightly chilled washcloth would help with that.

“I get it if you want to bail, man.”

“What?” 

Tony gestures to the chaos all around them. “If you want to bail, you can. This is not what you signed up for.”

“I didn’t sign up for anything.”

Tony almost sounds relieved. “Exactly. Gob, you can walk away.” Tony is playing with something in his hand, a small ball or a coin maybe, it’s too tiny for Gob to see properly. 

Gob laughs. “Uh, no. Nope.” Tony tilts his head a little, and it almost makes Gob lose focus, but he powers through. “No way. Not going to happen, brothero.”

“I would buy out your shares, if that’s what you-”

“Nil chance, nuh huh, no in spanish-”

“Gob, be serious.” 

Thank god, Gob was running out of ways to say no, even with his vast experience of dealing with Michael. “I am being serious. Why, do you want to bail?”

Tony looks offended Gob is asking, which, hello- “No.”

“I don’t either.” Gob arranges himself on top of the counter, long legs dangling. “We’ll need to work out some kind of schedule.” It takes a conscious mental effort to avoid kicking the counter, Gob is too excited to sit still, but the counter does look on the edge of decay. Maybe Gob shouldn’t be sitting on it... “But, Tony, don’t you just-” Gob takes a deep breath, trying to find the words to describe what he’s feeling. “We can do it. Everything we wanted to do with this place, we can now.”

Tony still seems hesitant, but he walks over closer to where Gob is, and that feels like a victory in and of itself. “I have a ton of gigs, but they’re all at night. If you’re willing to work a morning shift, I can take over in the afternoons.”

Gob groans, but it’s obvious that he’s faking it. “Fine. I guess I can get up early.” He laughs. “I’m going to be right upstairs anyway, this will be easy.”

And maybe it’s the sugar rush, or maybe it’s that Gob is slowly realizing how much more of Tony he’s going to be seeing, but in this dingy deathtrap of a niche market they’ve agreed to take on, Gob feels like the captain of a mighty ship, like the Titanic or something.

He also thinks he really should finish the second half of that movie sometime.

~~

Despite all the events of the previous day, Tony still looks surprised when Gob shows up the next morning with buckets and soap and rags. He looks a bit less surprised once they realize that Gob brought dish soap, not cleaning soap, and the rags are really just untied colorful handkerchiefs, but Tony’s arched eyebrow turns into laughter soon enough. 

It turns out that neither of them have ever really cleaned anything before. Gob always had nannies and housekeepers growing up, Tony was never a messy child besides glitter, and those tendencies had continued into their adult lives. They aren’t sure where to start, or how to do it.

Or at least, that’s the fear until Tony brings out his contribution. A bottle of vodka.

“Yes.” Gob’s an expert at unscrewing these things at this point, and he demonstrates this skill to Tony by opening the bottle with his hands behind his back. 

“I figured we could do it like a drinking game. You take a shot every time you successfully clean something. Like that Disney movie, what is it-”

“Mary Poppins?”

“Yeah, Mary Poppins!”

Five shots each and three slightly less disgusting shelving units later, Gob is trying to convince Tony to use him as a stepstool. 

“Nah, Tony, it’ll be fine. Look, look, I’ll just crouch like this and you can stand on my back? Just take off your shoes first. Then you can reach the- the top shelf.” Gob gets on his hands and knees, half hoping that it doesn’t look suggestive, and half hoping it does. Tony is far more drunk than Gob, who’s only a little buzzed, the Bluth tolerance for alcohol is as legendary as it is genetic.

Tony looks like he’s on the edge of figuring out that Gob is tall enough to clean the top shelf himself when there’s a sharp knock on the door. 

“Oh shit, it’s Michael.” Tony decides that this is the perfect moment to disappear, which is really inconvenient, because Gob’s the one who is supposed to be down south, and now no one is available to answer the door.

The knocking continues, and Gob can hear Michael yelling. “I know you’re in there, Gob. I’m not mad, I just need to talk to you. Let me in!”

Well then. Gob slowly approaches the door and opens it partway with the latch still on. “You aren’t mad?”

Michael looks mad. But then again, when does Michael look not mad? He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m not mad.”

“Are you sure? Because you really do look-”

“Gob. Let me in.” 

Gob unlocks the door as slowly as physically possible. If things go awry, he can take Michael in a fight anyway. That’s the one good thing about the Boy Fights franchise. He knows all of Michael’s weak spots.

“Oh, hello- Tony Wonder?” 

Tony is visible again, and trying his hardest to not appear drunk. Gob isn’t sure if Michael can tell. In fact, Michael might predominantly remember Tony when he was a little drunk and trying not to act drunk. So it’s probably fine. 

“Were you two drinking?”

Tony’s wide eyed look of panic is actually kind of adorable. Gob recognizes his role as the less drunk person to facilitate. 

“Yes, we were playing a cleaning drinking game.” Michael gives him a look, then reconsiders.

“That’s actually fairly responsible for you, I’ll take what I can get.” Michael puts his briefcase on the counter and opens it up. “Okay, so, I’m not going to ask about why you aren’t with Uncle Oscar-”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not even mad that you didn’t let me know you were back in town.” 

“You ditched me in the desert, Michael, I wasn’t going to-”

“Anyway.” Michael pulls out a legal looking form and a black fountain pen. “I need you to sign this.”

“Okay.” Gob’s signed so many things for Michael, he doesn’t bother reading them anymore. Not that he necessarily read the first one. But still, the point stands.

“Wait, what?” The two brothers turn to Tony, surprised to realize he’s still here.

“Uh, yes, Tony?”

Tony squints, and tries to pull himself together. “Gobie, don’t sign that without reading.” He turns to Michael. “Mikey Bluth. What do you want Gobie Bluth to sign?”

Michael lets out a sigh, obviously wounded by the implication that his motives could be anything but pure. “I just want Gob to sign this document relinquishing me and our family of any financial obligation he feels we have to him, because he broke the terms of our last and final agreement for a rehabilitation program-”

“Again, you ditched me in the desert-”

“Especially because with this new business venture, it puts our family reputation and credit line at risk to get sucked in.” Michael’s cough sounds suspiciously fake. “Andalsohesignsawaytherightstohislifestoryforamoviei’mfunding.”

“Sorry, what was that last one?” And damn, Tony is ruthless. He may be wobbling, but to Gob, he’s never been more magnificent.

Michael swears a little under his breath. “Gob, just sign the damn form, please.”

Gob brushes a fleck of dust off his thirty dollar jeans. “I happen to agree with Tony, I’m not signing anything.”

“You want to negotiate? Fine. Go.” 

Normally Gob loves this part, when he gets to argue with Michael and finally get his demands heard, but right now, he’s tired and just wants to get back to Tony- he means work. Wants to get back to work. “Can you take a look at these forms in the back? Please?”

Michael blinks, hard. “Uh. Sure.” Gob leads Michael into the back office. “What is all of this anyway?”

“Jenny left the store to Tony and me.”

Michael at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry, who was Jenny?”

“Jenny? Old lady? Used to own this store?” Did Tony and Gob seriously never bring Michael here? Michael looks uncomfortable, so Gob lets it go for now. “Anyway. Um. The lawyer guys said something about a second montage or something, do you think maybe you could take a look at that for me? I mean, I could totally figure it out, I’m just super busy with, you know, running the-”

And this time, Michael’s smile is a genuine one. “Sure, buddy.”

Gob leaves Michael to deal with the boring business of sorting through papers and doing math and goes to rejoin Tony near the main part of the store.

Tony is slumped against the wall, looking dejected. Gob eases himself down next to him, carefully leaving a solid six inches of space. 

“Why’d Mikey talk to you like that, Gobie? Why’d you let him?” 

Gob doesn’t know what to say. He tightens his watch a little, trying to get the familiar feel of the stiff leather to center him. It only makes him feel more keyed up, more stressed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tony.”

Tony looks at him with those fricking blue eyes. “Yeah, ya do.” Tony leans in closer, and Gob tries to stay as still as he can. “He’s being an ungrateful lil shit.”

That’s- not what Gob expected to hear. “What?”

“Does Mikey not- not think about all the crap you did to protect him?” 

Gob wants to go get his hearing checked, right now, because as long as he can remember, Gob’s been the one protected by Michael. Gob’s been the ungrateful one, the problem maker. Tony looks like he’s waiting for an answer though, so Gob tries to think about what he can possibly say to gently let Tony down, tell him he’s thinking of someone else.

Tony continues his tirade. “I mean, I know you didn’t like to talk ‘bout it- but holy shit Gob. You’re the only reason that kid turned out normal.”

There has to be a word for this, this feeling like your entire foundation is being shaken and flipped. Gob is trying to stop the memories that are floating up like bubbles, he doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want Tony to be wrong, he doesn’t want Tony to be right.

Gob doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he feels Tony place a hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

“Hey. Shit. I’m sorry Gob, I shouldn’t’ve-” 

“‘s okay, Tony. I’m fine.” Tony doesn’t move his hand though. Gob takes a deep breath. “Do you remember the time we got locked in the grocery store?” 

Hiccuping laughter bubbles out of the still wasted Tony. “They warned us over the, the- loudspeaker thingy- so many times, so many times that the store was closing, but you. You needed to get the RIGHT kind of cereal for Mikey.”

“Obviously, the kid was a freak. He wouldn’t eat normal cereal. He wanted the ‘healthy’ kind.” 

“You’re the- you’re the weird one.” Tony actually bops Gob’s nose. “Not all of us have your insane sugar toxic-toxalerance.”

Before Gob can freak out about the nose bop, Michael awkwardly clears his throat and Gob has to clammer to his feet, hoping that his face isn’t as flushed as he thinks it may be. 

“Hey, Gob, I have some bad news. Tony, do you want to come to?” And even though Tony is more than a few sheets to the wind, he insists on standing up all on his own, and tottering back towards the desk, where Michael has composed an intimidating spreadsheet for their viewing pleasure. Or, more likely, viewing displeasure. Gob suspects that his thoughts are less coherent than they feel.

Michael doesn’t care about his internal monologue though, and just dives into his own external one. “Have you ever heard of a mortgage? Of course you haven’t, that would require working and making money, which are two things you don’t do. But, for those of us who do work, a mortgage is when you make a loan against a piece of property or an asset. You symbolically sell it to a bank, and then pay rent to buy it back. Jenny took out a second mortgage on this shop. That transferred over to you two when she left you the store.” Michael looks serious. “Which means that the bank is going to want money from you, every 22nd of the month.”

Gob takes in a sharp breath. “How much money?”

“$1,206.”

“Fuck.” Gob pauses. “I have no frame of reference for that.”

Michael’s smile is grim and more than a little morbid. “I figured. On a good month, Jenny made about $1,500 in profit. On a bad month? Maybe around seven fifty.” For once, Michael doesn’t point out the obvious. The shop hasn’t had a customer in a while, and doesn’t look like it’s going to be up and running anytime soon. 

He’s almost afraid to ask, but Gob does it anyway. “And what day is today?” 

“It’s the 20th.” Michael glances at the legal forms again. “Look, Gob-”

“Yes?”

Michael looks annoyed with himself, but continues on. “I’ll write you a check for two thousand, okay? But this is seriously it.” Michael gets out the checkbook, his movements overexagerated. “This will cover the mortgage payment for this month, and you’ll have some money left over to make the necessary repairs. But this is the last time I bail you out. Ever. Okay?”

And for a moment, Gob wants to say no. Sure, he’s done way more for way less, but he still has maybe a speck of pride. And then he glances at Tony. Tony’s face is carefully neutral, which is super unhelpful, and just makes both sides clamor louder to be heard. But ultimately-

“Thank you.” Michael blinks, taken aback. “But, just so you know, this is the last time I’m going to need you to bail me out.” Gob slings an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “This store- dammit we really need to name it- is going to succeed. And you can-”

“Uh Gob? Maybe wait until the check’s in your hand before you finish that sentence.”

“Sorry, yeah, right.”


	8. Birthdays and New Beginnings

Gob and Tony fall into a rhythm. Gob has never needed much sleep, so he’s the one to get up at 8 and start off the day, cleaning and planning and filling out more forms than he knew could ever exist. He works until noon, when Tony walks through the jangling shop door and pulls up a chair besides him. Together, they discuss banner prices and advertising costs, and watch as the circled date on the calendar inches closer and closer. They reorder the inventory rats chewed on, and spend hours filling out little price tag stickers. Eventually, Tony leaves to get ready for his evening performance. 

Gob makes plans to go to strip clubs, seedy bars, his usual haunts with his usual crowds. But somehow, he always ends up at the bar or club where Tony Wonder is performing, the intoxicating combination of alcohol and Tony coaxing Gob out like a worm after rain, with a similar result.

Gob is never sure if Tony sees him. The stage lights are bright, and Gob is easy to glance over. You wouldn’t think so, because he’s so tall, but it’s true. Gob orders another beer.

George Oscar Bluth is on his sixth beer when he realizes that today is his birthday. 

The first thing he does is check his phone. Which is silly, because he would have heard it ring, if it had rung. But it didn’t, and it makes sense that it didn’t. Gob has been busy, at the shop. The grand reopening is in two days.   
He’s thirty eight today.

Gob’s not quite aware of how it happens, but there’s now linoleum underneath his feet, not stained hardwood. Some small part of him is screaming. He puts two bottles of whiskey in his sticky plastic hand cart anyway. The store clerk is young, and she looks at him with far too much concern in her eyes. 

Back at the cramped apartment above the shop, Gob pops open the first bottle and sets his phone on the table beside him. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for. He just knows he won’t get it.

~~~

The world is on fire. Or maybe that’s just Gob’s head. Either way, there is too much sunlight in the room, which means-

Shit.

Fuck.

Shitfuckingshitfuck.

Gob knew it couldn’t last, knew that he would fuck it up, and now it’s finally happened. He should feel relieved, but he just. Just feels hungover.

So hungover that it takes him a few seconds to realize that the entire apartment smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Maybe he got Fireball? Although that wouldn’t explain the vanilla-

As much as his head is protesting, some small, smarter part of Gob insists on putting on at least a robe before he goes to investigate. It would be totally lame to be murdered while naked. After careful consideration of the potential weapons available, Gob picks up an empty bottle of whiskey. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to break the bottom or top or something, but that sounds complicated and now there are sounds coming from the kitchen. He tries to open the door as quietly as possible, but every creak reverberates in his head like a thunderstorm. 

God damn it, he is too hungover for this. 

Gob switches from walking to skipping. It looks ridiculous, and some punks in elementary school tried to beat it out of him, but with his ‘super jumping’ he can land perfectly silently this way. He skips down the hallway, robe flapping with every pounce. He slows when he reaches the kitchen. The intruder is singing, some old song from like, the 50s, the sick bastard. 

When Gob rushes into the kitchen, whiskey bottle raised high- the intruder lets out the girliest shriek ever and- disappears?

“What the fuck are you doing!”

“Tony?”

Tony reappears, still clutching a frosting pipette. “Yeah, it’s Tony, dumbass.” 

Gob quickly tightens his robe. “What are you doing here?” Tony squirms a little, a hint of red rushing to his cheeks. He gives a little half shrug towards the half frosted cake. Without meaning to, Gob steps closer, and starts staring at it. Memories are floating back, but they are fuzzy, which means that they are probably something he’s either forgotten or repressed. 

A lot of things like that are scary, or just make him feel like shit, but this memory feels like a good one.

Tony’s voice is quiet, gentle. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday, man.” He seems to take Gob’s silence as anger, and a note of nervousness enters his voice. “I should have remembered, but things were busy and- anyway, once I realized, I called up my mom, she says hi, by the way- and I got that recipe, the one she and- she and I used to make for your birthday. When we were kids.”

“Gob Cake.”

“Yeah.”

Tony goes back to intently finishing the frosting, giving Gob a chance to take some deep breaths. For some reason his eyes are watery, which must be a new hangover symptom or something. Gob knows better than to offer help. Tony needs things done the right way, and Gob’s never been very good at that.

He slips away, back to his bedroom, and pulls on a pair of black jeans and a purple t-shirt. It makes him feel more human, a relief he’s not sure he deserves to experience. But Tony’s here, in his apartment, and he needs to pull it together.

When Gob reemerges, Tony leads him over to the ratty couch by the old school television. The coffee table is nearly groaning under the weight of the Gob cake, and the frosting, of course, is flawless, perfectly symmetrical. Tony dips back into the kitchen and returns with a bloody mary and a beer. 

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Tony doesn’t even blink. He just takes in two deep breaths, a calming habit a school counselor taught him back in third grade, and starts talking. 

“I’m nice to you because you deserve it. Kind of. I’m still a little mad, and more than a little hurt, but, Gob, I’ve missed you. And even though I know why I had to leave, I still feel shitty for leaving you with, you know, them.”

Gob lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. He starts fiddling with his watch, looking down while he tries to get up the courage to ask. 

“Tony, I don’t remember-”

Before he can finish, Tony cuts him off. “And Gob, look at what we’ve done, what you’ve done. The store is almost ready, and you’ve been- man, I don’t know, you’ve been working your ass off, and I’ve missed that about you.” He presses the bloody mary into Gob’s hand. “So, drink up, because hangover cake is the best cake, you know that.”

Gob can’t help but snort at that. “I haven’t exactly been with the kind of people who stay long enough to eat hangover cake with.”

Tony’s voice is deliberately steady. “Maybe you’ve been drinking with the wrong people, then.” He taps Gob’s glass with his own beer bottle, a solid clink echoing through the appartment. “Do you want to cut the cake or-”

“Tony.” Gob meets his gaze. “You will fucking murder me if I mess up your cake.”

“Technically it’s Gob Cake, but yeah, I know. Where the hell do you keep the knives in this pigsty?”

The Gob Cake is as delicious as ever, and goes weirdly well with the bloody mary. Gob and Tony spend the rest of the day on the couch, eventually ordering pizza and watching their favorite campy magic movies. Or at least, most people think that they’re campy. To Tony and Gob, they are simply perfect.

It’s almost seven when Tony takes another two breaths in. “Hey, Gobie?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still in touch with Chris?” Tony’s face is almost as red as the throw pillows, and Gob’s not quite sure Tony knows he’s holding his breath. And Gob is searching for an answer, begging his brain to just... remember, it has to have been important, but-

“Who?”

Tony exhales, sharp. Gob can hear him mutter under his breath, “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Tony...” Gob doesn’t have any follow up. He can’t pull an answer out of thin air, he can’t- wait a minute.

“Don’t you have a show tonight?” Because Tony always has a show, people to see, and places to be. None of which are usually Gob.

Tony is massaging the bridge of his nose. “No, I cancelled that. Family emergency.”

“Holy shit, why aren’t you there?”

The look Tony gives him would be withering, if Gob couldn’t spot the crinkle of affection in Tony’s eyes. “Gob. You are the family emergency. Your shitty family forgot your birthday, and it was an emergency.”

That should feel good, right? “So, you’re like, my brother now or something?”

“Ew, no.” Tony’s nose scrunches up. “You’re just Gobie, and I’m just Tony.”

The air is suddenly lighter, and Gob finds his lungs are full again. “Good.” They turn back to Lord of Illusions, and it doesn’t feel strange when Gob slowly leans against Tony, and Tony starts running his fingers through Gob’s hair. It’s just the way they’ve always been.

~~~

The next morning, Gob wakes up without a headache. He spends a few minutes just lying on the couch, enjoying the soft glow of stillness. The grand reopening is today. Late last night, right before Gob walked Tony to his room and made him take the bed, Gob had leaned against the doorframe, and asked if they were ready. After all, Gob took up a whole day with his- he doesn’t want to call it a meltdown, because, christ, he’s done so so much worse. But Tony said that everything was ready, and he said it in that steady voice, and just- Gob believes him. 

Gob makes his way to the bedroom, and is careful to knock. He’s seen Tony naked tons of times, but now... now if he sees Tony naked, he wants it to be deliberate and for the right reasons. But thinking about naked Tony means he’s more than a little flushed when Tony finally does answer the door, in a miraculously clean t-shirt.   
“Tony. Good morning.”

Tony looks like he wants to murder Gob, just a little. “Fuck you and your boundless energy.”

“That’s a suspiciously unfamiliar shirt.”

Tony’s bright blue eyes blink, and the downward push of dark lashes practically sends a miniature gust of wind Gob’s way. “What? Oh. I packed a duffle.”

That makes sense, only... “I thought you said you weren’t planning on staying the night?”

“I keep a backup duffle in the shop. Emergency preparedness, you know. Can we go make breakfast now?”

Tony grew up working in his aunt and uncle’s bakery, so he’s absolutely appalled at Gob’s lack of fresh ingredients. He actually makes Gob get fully dressed and run to the store two blocks away. Tony stays behind to make coffee. 

Which is how Gob ends up roaming the aisles of a Safeway, trying to decipher Tony’s messy scrawl. They are both pretty broke, what with the store not being open yet and the second mortgage and all, but he still manages to find enough items on the list so that Tony will let him have some coffee when he returns. 

Arms full of groceries, the climb upstairs is a bit of a challenge. Gob leans on the door to catch his breath, only to tumble into the apartment upon discovering that Tony left it unlocked. There is more singing coming from the kitchen, old 80s rock ballads instead this time. Gob takes a moment to try and force this moment to memory. He won’t get it again, he’s used up all his luck. Coming home, when did the apartment become home? Probably around this time yesterday, when Tony stood where Gob stands now, arms full of cake mix. 

Tony’s eyes sparkle when Gob gently knocks on the kitchen doorway. “Good, you’re back. Here.” A cup of warm coffee is shoved into his hands, and Gob is almost too distracted to notice something funny about the cup. Almost.

“This isn’t my cup.”

“No, it isn’t.” Tony is bustling about, moving groceries into all sorts of different places, an organizational system only he can see. “You, apparently, don’t own any mugs. This is from the duffle.”

“The emergency duffle has coffee mugs?”

“Obviously.”

~~

The first ten minutes after the grand reopening, Tony starts to wear a track in the floorboards.

When 10:30 ticks by, Gob joins him in pacing.

It’s nearly noon when a small person peeks in. She furrows a brow. “Excuse me, are you open?”

Gob practically screams his “yes!”, because, seriously, he spent all of last week putting up flyers. 

“Do you still sell magic supplies?”

“Yes!” Gob can see her eyes narrow, calculating something. Well, if one of them has to debase himself, it might as well be Gob. He’s got this.

“Everything in the store is 10% off!”

Gob is pretty sure the small person smirks, but she does enter the store, bringing along an even smaller person, this time, she’s blonde. They are really short, how are people that short?

Tony pokes his shoulder, getting Gob to lean down so Tony can whisper in his ear. “Those women are shorter than I am!”

“I know! It’s so freaky!”

The blonde one starts laughing. Her friend stops browsing, confused. She is practically on the floor, and Gob gets the nasty feeling this laughter is against him, not with him. 

“We’re thirteen, you complete dumb-”

“-that’s enough, Lily.” And amazingly, the blonde one- child, not short people, children- shuts up. The taller child shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Julianna. This is Lily. She can read minds. And yes, since apparently you were confused, we are thirteen.” She cocks her head to the side. “What were you two thinking that made Lily laugh so hard, if I may?”

Tony lets out a sigh and mumbles under his breath. “We didn’t realize you were children and were trying to figure out why you are so short.”

Lily’s jaw drops. “And you don’t recognize the fucking irony, man?”

“His name is Tony.” And at that, Lily raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn’t comment. Julianna looks concerned, for some reason. 

“Is Jenny here?” Shit. Julianna takes the silence as encouragement to continue. “The elderly woman? Did she retire, or...” 

“Uh, sorry kid, Jenny died.”

“Oh.”

Lily glowers. “Why the fuck are you two here then?” 

Gob takes over, Tony looks a little lost. “Jenny left us the store in the paper thingy. The will. Yeah, the will.” 

Julianna runs her hand through her thick hair. “Wait. Are you THE Tony and Gob? The ones Jenny always talked about?”

“Probably?” Tony is tilting his head, and it’s distractingly cute. Lily rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s them alright.” Gob gives her a questioning look, but Lily moves on. “Anyway, sorry, I guess, for bothering you.” Julianna walks up to the cash register and gives Tony exact change for a silk scarf set. 

It’s their first sale.

“Wait!” The two girls turn around and again, Gob is struck by how tiny they are. “You two should come around again, maybe bring some friends? We used to love this place when we were kids.”

Julianna’s voice is dry. “We don’t exactly have any friends to bring.”

“All the more reason to come back.” Tony nods, sagely. “Magic is a great way to make friends.”

“Did it help you?” Julianna doesn’t wait for Gob’s response. “It’s okay, we appreciate the lie. See you later.” The thirteen year olds are out the door, little bell jingling for a moment, and then it’s silent in the shop. 

Tony is leaned up against the counter, reflective. Gob slowly turns, getting his attention.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about changing our target demographic?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE.  
> Comments are, as always, super super super adored and appreciated and helpful.  
> Thank you for being amazing.


	9. A New Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so so sorry. Word of advice: don't get nervous over which tense your story is in halfway through. But hey, it lives!

Gob stays up all night redecorating. No one asked him to, but his brain is bursting with ideas and he couldn’t sleep anyway. He moves the displays around, clears out the old back room. He tries, so so hard, not to get distracted. It still happens twice, once when he finds an old Poof with familiar handwriting in the margins, and again when he finds the red notebook he and Tony used to pass back and forth in class. 

Tony’s scrawl is spiky, like him. Gob’s is loopy and lopsided and rambly, so it works too. Gob always wrote in blue ink, Tony in black. Gob shoves the notebook in his desk drawer, he wants to reread it later.

When morning comes, Gob stands outside, passing out his hand drawn fliers. They detail the competition the shop now hosts on Friday nights, an illusion contest. Winner gets a gift card to the shop, which, thanks to Gob’s quick paint job last night, finally has a name. A cool name, a fun name, the perfect name-

“What the fuck does ‘Street Magic’ even mean, Gobie?”

Gob maybe should have run it by Tony first. 

“Well, it’s like, tough and hip magic. Like. Kids casting glimmers in the streets.” Gob beams a smile at Tony, because, come on, it’s a pretty good name.

Tony rubs his temple. “Have you even slept since I saw you last?”

“Uh-”

Tony steers Gob upstairs. “Sleep. I’ll take care of the shop.” He hesitates before he goes back down. “And uh, Gobie?”

“Yeah?” Gob is starting to feel a little sleepy, now that the concept of sleep has been reintroduced. 

“Thanks. The shop looks great.”

Gob sways ever so slightly. “It was easy.”

Tony smiles softly. “I’m sure it was. Now go to sleep, or else I’ll have to tuck you in myself.” He laughs a little when Gob sticks out his tongue in an oh so mature response. “Sleep.”

As Gob drifts off, he hopes he dreams of Tony, like he has every other night since their eyes locked at his show. 

~~~

When Gob wanders back downstairs, Tony is gone. There is a sticky note on the register though.

‘Gobie! Your idea was fantastic. We made $272 today! We’ll just be able to make the mortgage payment if this keeps up.’ A word is crossed over in heavy black ink. Gob tries to make out what it said, but it’s been covered up thoroughly. ‘Hope you slept well. Tony.’

Well then. Gob slumps dramatically into a nearby chair. Or at least, slumps dramatically on his second attempt. He landed on the floor the first time. And he nearly falls out again when the shop bell rings suddenly.

“Oh, Gob!” Tony looks disheveled from the wind and it is glorious. “Sorry, I... I... I thought I’d have more time to think of an excuse, to be honest.”

Gob’s heart is pounding. “An excuse?” The wind picks up outside, thunder cracks and it begins to pour. Tony walks purposefully over to where Gob is still sitting in the crappy old chair. The smaller man grins, almost feral in the moonlight.

Tony straddles Gob, and everything else in the world fades away as he leans in and whispers, practically in Gob’s ear-

“Heyyyy Brother!”

And Gob startles himself awake, practically punching Buster in the nose. “GOD DAMN IT, BUSTER!” Because Buster is there, and all too close, and the memory of Tony is too close for Gob to breathe comfortably just yet. “How the hell did you even get in here?” 

Buster stops his high pitched whine just long enough to explain. “I’m sorry brother, the door was open and I wanted to see you-” 

“Well, maybe I don’t want to see you!” Buster’s face drops, and Gob tries hard not to feel too guilty. He’s already a fuck up, Buster should know better by now. 

His voice is quiet, but definitely there. “You have your upset face on, brother.”

“Yeah, I’m upset, I’m upset that you-”

“You’re upset at yourself, not me, don’t- don’t blame it on me.” Buster meets Gob’s gaze. “You have a different face when you are just mad at me. You are mad at yourself.” Buster sits down on the couch, a little too close for comfort, but Gob doesn’t push him away. “So tell me. What’s going on?”

Gob lets out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll talk... but not here.”

~~~

“Do you seriously not have any other hangouts besides Mom’s place?”

Buster shrugs. “Nope.” 

Gob resists the urge to groan. “At least the old bat’s not here.” 

“Excuse me?” Lucille appears out of the kitchen. “Is that any way for the family disgrace to talk to his loving, perfect mother?”

Gob lets out a groan. “Mother. Always a pleasure. I thought you were recovering from some tuck or another?”

“George Oscar, I do not tuck!” Lucille sniffs. “At any rate, any little boo-boos Dr. Nygaurd assisted me with asside, I hear you’re still set on this ridiculous attempt of a business venture? Do you have any idea what stress that’s put your father under?”

“No, I do not, Mother.” Gob can’t resist sassing Lucille, he never has. 

Lucille storms out in a cloud of perfume and vodka vapor. Buster clears his throat. “Um.... Brother?”

Gob collapses on the sofa. “Yes, Buster?”

“Are you gonna tell Tony Wonder that you love him? Or is that more of a ‘wait and see’ sort of deal?”

There’s a solid thud as Gob hits the floor. On his knees, he scrambles up to grab Buster’s lapel. “What.”

Buster looks considerably more nervous now, and starts to stammer. “Are- are you going to tell Tony Wonder that you- you’re-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gob pauses. “Why do you think what you think, nervous man?” Gob does release Buster and sits back on the couch. “Talk. Talk and there might be juice.”

Buster lights up at the mention of juice and relaxes noticably. “Well.” He giggles, and it’s far more disturbing than it should be. “It’s the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him, and that time he was going to tell you he loves you-”

“WHAT?”

Buster fiddles with his glasses. “Oh yeah, back in 1988, but you were doing something with Chris in your bedroom and that made Tony-”

“What.” And Gob’s world is spinning, and crashing, and bursting into flames because he always knew there was something and that sounds like him. That sounds just like him, Jesus Christ.

“Brother, if you keep interrupting me, how will you-”

Gob’s voice is incredulous. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Buster actually manages to look a little angry. “For the third time, that’s my bonus. I remember everything.”

“Everything?” 

Buster pointedly glances at Lucille’s room. “Everything.”

“OH MY GOD, GROSS.”

“I know.”

Gob gets up and sits closer to Buster. “Hey, buddy. What if I told you, you could solve all my problems? See, Tony hates me because of something I forgot because I took too many forget-me-nows. With your spell sign, I can make a remember-me-now.”

A flat voice is suddenly way too close to Gob’s ear. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Uncle Gob.”

“Shit! Where the hell did you come from?” George Michael is taller than the last time Gob saw him, and has the barest trace of a moustache. It’s not growing in well.

“Oh, I’ve been standing here. This whole time. I mean, I was tying my shoe for a bit, so.”

Gob studies his nephew. “What do you mean, you don’t think it’s a good idea? I think it’s the best idea since edible glitter!”

George Michael fiddles with his hands. “I mean, this is just what I think, but I don’t think you can solve one pill problem with another. You have to be honest with the ones you love.”

And what does it say about Gob, that even now, his first instinct is to fight the L word. To try and say that he isn’t in love, that he doesn’t even know what love is. But that would be a lie, just too big of a lie. Love is Tony making him a birthday cake, love is the chance of making Tony smile, love is how even now, he’ll risk everything to make Tony happy.

“Okay. We’ll do it the right way.” Gob pulls George Michael and Buster into a far too tight and far too involuntary group hug. When they release, Gob remembers a question he had for George Michael.

“What’s your bonus, anyway?”

George Michael blushes. “Oh, I have a really good internal clock. But if Maeby asks, it’s computer programing.”


	10. The Collision

It takes the rest of the afternoon, but Buster, George Michael, and Gob manage to cobble together the Ultimate Bluth Plan To Win Back Tony. Gob wishes Michael had gone in on it, but maybe he’ll just save Michael’s advice as a backup. Buster turned out to know a surprisingly large amount about relationships. Which, when did that happen?

But anyway. The Epic Ultimate Bluth Plan To Win Back Tony starts with flowers. Gob starts sending an anonymous bouquet to Tony’s apartment every other day. 

When Tony comes in, freaked out about having a stalker, Gob cancels the standing order.

No biggie. Like any good magic trick, there are multiple pieces in the air at all times. Gob starts meeting Buster for a few hours every day, writing down all the things he’s missed or forgotten as Buster dictates. And Gob thought it would make him feel like crap, you know? Looking back on all the things he was too embarrassed to remember in the first place. Gob’s a pretty shitty person. But it turns out, he’s not all bad, and he’s forgotten some of the times when he wasn’t such a dick. 

Like, he used to tuck Buster in to bed, even when both of them were way too old.

And he did a lot of the grocery shopping when Lucille was too drunk to care.

And one time, Buster had a nightmare and Lucille wasn’t there, so Gob let him climb into bed with him and Gob told Buster stories until he fell asleep. 

It turns out Gob’s actually repressed a lot of his childhood, even before the forget-me-nows. Or maybe the forget-me-nows just have side effects. But it feels like reverse therapy, and so much better than any court mandated counseling. Instead of scraping the edges of his mind for a past he doesn’t feel connected to, he gets to sit back and listen as Buster reintroduces Gob to Gob. 

When the flowers fall through, Gob calls Tony’s mom for help. She lends him recipe after recipe, and Gob’s kind of shocked she still likes him after all the hell he’s put her family through. When he brings it up, her voice goes heavy and she says that it’s fine, as long as she never hurts her Tony again. 

Gob promises. And then he starts inviting Tony up for dinner. If Tony finds it suspicious how every dish is a childhood favorite, he doesn’t say anything. But he eats every bite, even if it’s burnt a little, and starts bringing over dessert.

He also starts putting in even more effort at the store. There are only a few days left before the mortgage is due, and they are still three hundred dollars short. Gob keeps a list of ideas for how they can drum up business. The street magic duels they now host bring in the bulk of their revenue, and more and more teens are stopping by their shop after school. But it’s not quite enough, it’s never enough, even though they are so close it hurts.

But it’s not enough.

The day before they need to mail in the mortgage, they are one hundred and fifty seven dollars short. Tony seems to slump towards the Earth, burdened by every one of those hundred and fifty seven dollars. In quarters. Or, something. 

And Gob has an idea. And he thinks about it, which is usually not his second step, but it’s something he’s working on. And it’s going to be hard, and it’s going to suck, but it’s an actual solution, and he’s out the door before Tony can finish asking “Gob, what are you-”.

When Gob comes back an hour later, he tosses Tony an envelope full of cash.

For some reason, Tony looks pissed.

“Gob. We had an agreement, that you couldn’t go to your family for any more money. I thought that- I - we were going to do this the right way!” Tony is pacing, Tony is furious, Tony looks even more defeated than he did before. “Fail or succeed on our own!”

Then Tony looks down, and stops, cold. Gob takes a hesitant couple of steps forward, he isn’t sure but he thinks Tony may hate him now, and he at least wants to tell Tony, before he leaves again forever, that he remembers, or at least knows what happened, what went wrong.

“You aren’t wearing your watch.”

Well. “Yeah, I just- I just sold it.” Tony is blinking at you, and it’s really only emphasizing how blue his eyes are.

Tony takes three steps towards you. “You love that watch. You wore it, every day, for what, 15 years? And you’ve never sold it for drug money because you love it, you love that damn ugly watch so goddamn much-”

“I love you more.” And Gob’s heart is frozen, like he can’t believe his mouth said that, he’s never said that before to anyone, ever, and maybe he should run. He could probably run. His legs are longer than Tony’s. 

“What.” Tony starts to shake a little, and then a lot, and shit, Gob remembers that sometimes it’s too much for him, so he guides Tony to the little couch in the back room, careful not to touch him too much or for too long.

“Tony! Tony, are you okay?” Because now Tony’s crying and, shit. 

“I hate you.” And the words send chills down Gob’s spine. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. How can- how can you come back. How- you don’t even remember-”

“You came out to me about a half dozen times and I took more and more forget-me-nows because I couldn’t handle it.”

Tony sniffs. “Well. Yeah, that.”

Gob’s voice is lower now, more urgent. “And I am a fuckup. I’m impulsive and kind of hate myself, a lot. So it’s okay if you, you know, hate me. But...” Gob takes a deep breath. “I still love you. And I should have told you fifteen, twenty years ago. But I’m dumb, and it took me that long to figure it out.”

“You aren’t dumb.” Tony’s voice is quiet. “You aren’t. You, you say you are, but you knew how to turn this place from a failure into a success. And you have the best ideas in the world, and the worst, and you act on them either way, which makes you better than like, 99% of the population.” Tony is shaking less now, but Gob still gingerly places a blanket around his shoulders.

Tony grasps onto the blanket with his smallish hands, black nail polish chipped, like always. “And I don’t.”

“Don’t what?” But Gob kind of knows already, but god, if he can just hear Tony say it-

“I don’t hate you.” Tony smiles a little. “I love you. And if you’d held off on your ‘no homo’ bullshit for like, thirty seconds, fifteen years ago, you’d have heard that a lot sooner.”

“Wait, you were there to-”

“Yep.”

“Well.” 

And Gob and Tony just look at each other, and then the gap between their faces is narrowing. Gob’s stomach is filled with miniature doves, flapping like crazy. There’s a pause just before Tony’s lips touch Gob’s where they both pause, silently asking the other if they actually want to do this.

And then there’s a collision, and warmth, and then heat, and then Gob is leading Tony back upstairs to his bedroom, and Tony is pulling, and Tony is there, Tony is there, Tony is there.

_Oh._


	11. The Day After (And Every Day After That)

When Tony wakes up the next morning, Gob isn’t there, and Tony’s heart threatens to capsize. Last night, when they were tangled up together, Gob asked Tony to stay. Not to run. So Gob can’t be fully gone, even though Tony knows the one night stand drill like the back of his hand. 

And then Tony hears singing coming from the kitchen. 

Somehow that doesn’t calm down his heart, because it’s occurring to him that he has to talk to Gob now. And that’s the part he’s always been bad at. Because, maybe, just a little, he didn’t exactly want every one of those one night stands to be only one night. But people want their space, and Tony doesn’t want to crowd someone doing their thing.

But god, Tony wants to hold hands with Gob and never leave this shitty apartment, so badly.

It takes every ounce of courage left in him to pull on a shirt (not just any shirt, Gob’s shirt, although he’ll pretend not to have noticed) and walk out towards the singing. Gob’s singing some Madonna song, and Tony remembers how much Gob loved her in middle school. He had her pictures in his locker and Tony got absolutely sick of Holiday. 

“Hey, Gobie?” And Gob turns around and looks at Tony like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

“Hey, Tony.” Gob scrunches his nose up, thinking, and it’s adorable. “No fair. I can’t add another y sound to Tony.”

And isn’t that Gob, to worry about not being able to nickname his boyf- his Tony. “We can figure it out together?” And Tony doesn’t mean for there to be a question in his voice, but damn it, he’s vulnerable, okay? 

Gob presses a quick peck to Tony’s forehead. “Yeah, of course. I wanna do that.” They make their way over to the couch with the eggs and sit down, closer than before, Tony’s leg bumping up against Gob’s. ‘There are so many issues!’ a small panicky part of Tony’s brain is screaming. ‘It’ll never work!’ And usually that panicky part is in control, but Tony just grabs Gob’s hand and the voice doesn’t go away, it may never go away, but it’s at least not the boss. 

“Were you drunk yesterday?” And Tony probably could have found a softer way to phrase that, but he needs to know, because he can’t let himself believe in this just yet. But Gob gives him a look that says that he gets it, that he understands and isn’t going to push.

“No.” Gob looks down at his plate, and Tony realizes how long Gob’s hair has gotten and how badly he needs a haircut. “I stopped about a week ago. Like, not one hundred percent stopped, but I’m- I’m not like my mom.”

“You’re never going to be like her.” Tony never, ever, liked Lucille. And even when he was maddest at Gob, he never would compare the two. 

Because Gob’s eyes are so sad. “That’s not what Michael said.” And fuck, Tony wants to track down Michael now, and shake some sense into him.

“Michael is...” Tony hesitates. “Michael is messed up. You all are. I am. Michael’s kind of messed up though, I think he- I think he doesn’t remember everything, like you. Only you forgot the bad parts, and Michael forgot the good parts.” 

“You aren’t messed up.” 

Tony can’t stifle his snort of laughter. “Um, I am. I totally am.” And even though it’s funny, Tony feels a little like crying. Gob puts his arm around Tony, and pulls him closer. Their plates are on the floor now, and they’re just sitting on the couch, and now Tony is practically in Gob’s lap because he’s on the verge of tears, and it’s kind of funny and really scary and kind of sad and he tells Gob as much.

“Yeah, it is.” Gob wraps both of his arms around Tony, and god, Tony missed this, the sheer physicality of Gob, the urge to touch and hold and feel. 

They stay like that until it’s time to open the shop. Tony agrees to run to the bank and pay the mortgage, because, honestly, he’s still nervous Gob will get distracted along the way. But Gob agrees with his logic, giving Tony a kiss before he’s out the door, and wow. 

All the way to the bank, Tony remembers the kiss, and all the ones from the night before, until it feels like a glow, a protective blanket, and he feels calmer than he has in a long time.

~~~

The next month is hard, but they make it. Gob says that that’s good, because he only had one watch. Tony laughs and brings him back to bed. Tony laughs easier now. His therapist was worried at first, because Gob Bluth is a bit of a trainwreck, and could easily ‘spark a regression’. But even though Tony logically knows what she meant...

Gob Bluth has always been a galaxy to Tony. There’s fire, and ice, and a whole lot of terrifying things out there; but there’s also beautiful things, like his constellations of freckles that pop up absolutely everywhere, the deep green of his eyes, and the way he pulls Tony closer in the middle of the night.

The month after that, they actually make a small profit. Tony insists on making a special dinner to celebrate, and Gob steals a bottle of wine from Lucille’s, but they forget to drink it, getting drunk on laughter and kisses and a small food fight. It takes them half an hour to clean the kitchen, but that’s because Tony keeps singing under his breath, which of course means Gob has to perform, loudly and off key, using the mop as a microphone stand. 

It’s not all perfect. Neither Tony nor Gob are used to this whole relationship thing. Tony still gets nervous. Gob still runs hot and cold. But they’ve always know how to take care of each other, ever since they were kids, and they realize quickly that even through all the forget-me-nows and therapists and alcohol, they never, ever, forgot. Tony still knows how important touch is to Gob. Gob remembers that Tony needs to feel safe and warm and that when things get really bad, the weighted blanket is the way to go. 

When Christmas comes around, so does Michael.

“Hey- oh. Hey. Um.” Michael stammers when he first walks into the store and sees Tony and Gob hand in hand. Tony glances at Michael. He’s lost weight, and seems much older than before. 

Tony decides to be kind. He gets up off Gob’s lap. “Hi Michael, happy holidays, welcome to Street Magic.” Michael looks relieved and accepts Tony’s outstretched hand.

“Yeah, happy holidays.” Michael runs his fingers through his hair, and Tony remembers a little five year old with scraped knees. “I uh- I see that things are going well here? You guys are keeping the uh- keeping the books? Because you remember how important it is to have honest book-keeping.”

“God, Michael, we know.” Gob calls out, still lounging by the register. Tony would tell him to come over, but he can see the slight fear in his eyes and maybe the distance is good. Gob’s always cared too much about what Michael thinks of him. But not unjustifiably.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Anyway. I just heard from Buster, of all people, that you two are, you know, together, so I just wanted to say congratulations, happy holidays, all of that good stuff.”

Gob coughs, and Tony gives him what he hopes is a supportive gaze, but he’s still kind of new to this and it comes off as gassy. But it does the trick for Gob regardless, and Gob pulls out an envelope from the cash register and walks over to Michael, looking down.

“What’s this?”

Gob is still looking down, so Tony grabs his hand. “Thank you for the loan, back when we were going to lose the shop. Here’s your money back, the shop is doing well, and- and it wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Michael looks like he’s forgotten how to speak, so Tony nudges him, maybe a bit rougher than necessary. “Ow! That’s, thank you, Gob. I wasn’t expecting-”

“I know you weren’t. That’s why I’m doing it.”

Michael gives Gob the most awkward hug Tony has ever seen. “Thanks.” And the Bluth brothers turn a very similar shade of pink. Michael coughs and changes the subject. “So, ah- when did this happen?” He gestures at the space, or lack thereof, between Tony and Gob.

Tony turns to Michael, grinning. “Oh, about twenty years ago.” Gob nods, sincerely.

Michael turns even pinker. “Ah.”

~~~~

Christmas morning, there’s a suspiciously small box under the tree, and Tony’s heart flutters a little when he notices. They don’t open presents right away though, they make pancakes in the shape of penises. Hey, the cookie cutter was on sale, it was destiny! 

There’s a buzz over the intercom, which means someone is down at the front door of the shop. Gob looks up from drowning his penis pancake in syrup. “Can you get that, pleaseeee?” And Tony really shouldn’t give in, but it’s Christmas and Gob looks adorable with his Christmas morning sex hair.

Tony makes his way down the stairs and towards the shop, where all of his best teenage customers are waiting. Which is weird, right, because shouldn’t they be at home or whatever? Tony’s imagination goes a little while, thinking of all the emergencies that might have happened, and contemplates grabbing his first aid kit. When he opens the door, Julianna and Lily are standing at the front, holding hands.

Lily rolls her eyes at him. “Chill, Tony, no one’s hurt or dying. We’re just supposed to sing to you.”

Julianna starts singing, and the others join in, but it’s not “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” or anything like that.

It’s “The Final Countdown”, and Tony spends way too long trying to figure out what’s going on before he pieces it together. And then Gob appears, in a puff of smoke and glitter, dressed in his best rip away tuxedo. 

“What’s better than two best friends, you may ask?” Gob has his performing voice on, even though it’s only Tony and the backup chorus of his favorite customers. Two doves fly out of his sleeves. “Two best boyfriends!” Gob wiggles his fingers, and two bouquets of real flowers, not trick ones, appear. Gob hands them to Tony, their fingertips brushing only so briefly before he starts up again, this time with a noticeable tremor in his voice. “And what’s better than two boyfriends?” Gob releases a fireball, and it’s actually fire, not just lighter fluid. 

When the flame dies down, the small box Tony spotted is in Gob’s hand. He presses it, oh so gently, into Tony’s. In perfect unison, the teens all turn their backs to the two of them. Gob looks at Tony. “You should open the box, but before you do, you should- should. You should know that you can- can say, anything. You can say it soft, and the kids won’t hear, and you can turn invisible and hide upstairs and we’ll never mention it unless you want to. Tony, you can-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Same?”

“Same.”

~~~

The ceremony is small. Buster cries. Lindsay complains a bit that she is always the last to know. Michael looks conflicted for a lot of it, but ultimately loosens up. Tony’s mom pinches everyone’s cheeks. Tony’s dad doesn’t show. But neither does Gob’s dad, although George Senior is in prison, and that’s a bit of a better excuse than homophobia. But it doesn’t matter. 

Tony and Gob are wearing real tuxes, ones that don’t rip away, and they’ll have to deliberately remember that for later, because already Tony’s palms are itching with the urge to grab Gob and kiss him silly.

Then the officiant says, “You may now kiss the other groom,” and Tony does.

And it’s magical. And perfect. And twenty years in the making.


End file.
